CM: 100 Word Challenge
by SeverinadeStrango
Summary: 100 short stories featuring the characters of "Common Motives," each inspired by a single word.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first chapter of the pirate101 100-word challenge that I have discovered via the wonderful KamenRiderTanatos :D  
**

**It will feature my dearly beloved array of characters from "Common Motives", and will likely be updated daily :)**

**Enjoy!**

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**1\. Beginning**

"_Miss Underhill!" _

It was as if the room had then dropped twenty degrees, and Sydney shivered as she mentally forced herself out of her daydreams and back to reality.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Did you _hear _my question, or were you off in your own silly little world of make believe?"

Sydney had to fight to keep the color from rising to her cheeks as her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the olive green folds of the uncomfortable silk dress.

Of _course _I didn't hear your question, she wanted to say, I wasn't listening to your boring _drone. _But, naturally, the forced - good mannerism of her upbringing would not let her voice this, and it was stuffed down inside of her head.

"I heard you, Ma'am."

Her tutor, a stern Marleybonian woman in her late thirties with wrinkles that had appeared on her face at much too early of an age, scoffed, obviously not having believed a word of what the ten – year – old had said.

"I'll ask you _one more time – _have you memorized your vocabulary?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Sydney replied, her pale cheeks flushing, partly in humiliation for being talked down to in such a way, and partially in anger – but not anger at her tutor.

She was angry because just outside the window, within range of her sight and hearing, she could see children playing.

Children of her age – ten, eleven years old, happily running back and forth through the cobblestone roads, running after each other in some sort of _obscure – _one of the words which she had been required to know – chase game. Yet, as basic as it seemed, she envied them, for she would have given anything to be any_where_ but _here, _in this dull, heavy – feeling room in the Underhill manor, cornered by a woman that she did not even know the name of.

It was funny, Sydney thought, how she didn't even know her name. But then again, it was hardly necessary – even if her name _had _been known, she would still call her "Ma'am," regardless.

"I will find out if what you say is true."

A clicking noise as the woman adjusted her spectacles, and the rustling of fabric as she crossed her arms, taking a step closer to the grey – eyed girl.

"Define _malevolent." _

"Malevolent - having or showing a wish to do evil to others," The girl all but spat as she recited the definition back to her perfectly.

"_Injunction." _

"Injunction – an authoritative warning or order."

"_Lucid."_

"Lucid – expressed clearly or easy to understand."

At this, her tutor seemed slightly satisfied (or shocked, Sydney really could not tell the two emotions apart when it came to this particular individual) and stepped back, giving Sydney a momentary sense of relief.

"It appears your claims are correct, Miss Underhill," she said, pinning Sydney down with her gaze, just as Sydney had a habit of doing to others, and the two ensued in what seemed like a subtle staring contest.

In the end, Sydney had emerged as the victor – her teacher had broken the stare to glance at the pendulum clock that was hanging on the wall behind the girl's head.

"And I do believe that your session is finished."

No goodbye, no words of approval at her memorization, no encouragement. Instead, she simply walked out of the door, pointed nose poised in the air, her heeled shoes making crisp clicks as she exited the manor.

Silence.

Sydney had not wished for silence – she wanted to scream, but her parents would scold her for acting in such an _unrefined manner. _

_God, _she wanted to scream, she wanted to pull at her black locks of hair until the artificially pressed curls refused to hold their shape anymore, she wanted to rip the olive – colored silk off of the suffocating hoop skirt, and she dared not even give a _thought_ to the corset that had been pulled _too too tight _around her waist –

However, she was then forced to abandon yet another train of thought as the massive grandfather clock in the main hall of the manor struck _three_ and sent her running as fast as she could, not _daring _to let the sharp heels of her shoes hit the floor, else her mother discovered she was _running inside the manor, _and yet she _had _to go fast, to the drawing room in the West Wing, where the grand piano was located.

She had just _barely _made it in time, under a minute, before her mother would notice the absence of the sound of running scales filling the interior of the manor, and rushed to arrange her skirts about her as she seated herself on the bench before the instrument, immediately placing her hands on the ivory keys and beginning what would then continue to be another two – hour confinement that was now a regular part of her daily routine.

It became so _regular, _so _boring, _so agonizingly _boring, _that she feared, one day, that she would _combust. _

_Combust – to spontaneously be consumed by fire. _

_That's an interesting word_, she thought, and for the first time in what must have been several days, the ten – year – old girl smiled.

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**Hope you enjoyed! I've never really written about Sydney's history before, so this was an interesting experience for me. I'll definitely try and go through the entire list, so follow and REVIEW!**

** \- Severina**


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. Obsession**

Hunter saw it all.

Of course he did.

He never had missed, and never would miss an opportunity to see the Armada clockworks get mercilessly beaten into the ground.

So _of course _he had seen that tiny, isolated, abandoned squadron of ten appear out of the shadows and get shot down almost instantly by the island's enormous sleeping militia.

And _of course _he had seen that one musketeer slink back into the shadows. Unnoticed, but not by him.

Smart, but not invincible, Hunter thought, shaking his head in amusement and smirking to himself before picking up his staff and stalking out the door, heading into the alleys.

The alleyways of Skull Island were, collectively, a giant, massive maze that snaked throughout the entirety of the land. Once one was in, there were only five ways out, one of them conveniently being less than five minute's distance away from the Chamberlain manor.

In addition, as if to add a cruel amount to his advantage, this entrance also was the closest to the location where he had seen the ambush on the Armada musketeer squadron – and if his logic was correct, the single remaining marksman would be somewhere relatively close to this particular alleyway entrance.

Pressed against the wall, staff in one hand and breath held fast, as to ensure that he would not be able to produce a single sound that would impede his hearing, the male witchdoctor listened, he listened for any _trace _of that telltale sound –

_There. _

The dampened rotating of hundreds of thousands of gears, some large, some small, from somewhere behind him, and without hesitation, he moved, turning the corner and flattening himself against the wall once again.

And just in time as well.

Sure enough, the witchdoctor's estimations had been correct.

Roughly around fifteen seconds later, the Armada marksman silently walked right past the corner behind which Hunter hid, his two white – gloved hands warily keeping his rifle pointed in front of him.

_Now. _

Hunter lunged for him.

It was quite simple to the witchdoctor – he slid a hand over the Clockwork's mouth, muffling the small sounds of alarm as he hooked an arm around his waist and dragged the soldier backwards.

However, the marksman refused to go without a fight.

The second he had been seized, the clockwork had attempted to aim the gun directly at Hunter's head, and he had twisted wildly, desperately trying to escape his captor's grip after discovering that the witchdoctor had disarmed him and grabbed onto him faster than he could have predicted.

Slamming him into the stone walls of the alleyway, Hunter wrapped his other hand around the clockwork's throat, pulling him away from the wall only to slam him backwards relentlessly, repeating the motion until the marksman had lost all sense of balance and all but collapsed against the witchdoctor, still save for the periodical slight twitch as he struggled to regain his sense of direction – an attempt which, naturally, was to no avail.

Hunter relaxed his grip on the soldier then, not wanting him dead _quite _yet, and lifted his unmoving frame, turning to his right and starting back towards the manor.

_Perfectly, _he thought, allowing the feeling of satisfaction to wash over him, _it had gone perfectly, just as expected. _

For tonight, he knew – there was no room for imperfection – it was Dangler's birthday.

Dangler, his goddess, his mistress, his queen – sadly unaware of her own perfection. Yet, in a strange way, that only seemed to add to her beauty.

As he walked, he glanced down at the defeated – and oddly _delicate _marionette soldier, unmoving, unresponsive – at least for the time being.

_Excellent, _he thought, looking towards the many lights of the manor and allowing himself to smile.

_Dangler does love such fragile things. _

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dangler returned to the manor late that night, although Hunter was not particularly surprised.

It was not exactly an _uncommon _occurrence, given that she often lurked in the caves of Skull Island during the day, amusing herself in various ways, whether that was scaring young trainees of the Resistance silly or having a breath – holding contest with herself – whatever suited her fancy at that particular moment.

She was a strange girl – nothing ever seemed to hold her attention for very long, and she was always seeking fun or entertainment as if it was as vital to her survival as water or oxygen.

However, when she _did _return, she made as grand of an entrance as ever, flinging the door open and practically _spinning _in, the folds of her skirt flying around her voluptuously curved figure in a tornado of black silk as the door slammed shut behind her, an exhilarated expression on her face, the cause of it unknown.

Placing both of his hands on her shoulders, Hunter laughed at her dizzy expression as the vertigo finally caught up with her and kissed her once, on the top of her forehead.

"Welcome home, _milady." _

She let out a dark, low chuckle, the gravity of the sound seeming to weigh the very air down.

"I brought something for you today…"

The woman's arched eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

"_Really, _now…? And what might _that _be?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to close your eyes first…" He smirked slyly, watching as she placed her hands over her eyes before gently gripping her wrist and leading her, across the main room and down the steep staircase that led to the lower dungeons, causing her anticipation to visibly build as he finally slowed the both of them to a stop just outside one of the doors, which was pushed open with an ominous (and to some degree, obnoxious) squeaking noises as the hinges swung.

The marksman was still there, splayed out on the ground where Hunter had left him, his slim wrists tied behind his back.

The witchdoctor then proceeded to do the one thing that he would end up regretting for as long as he lived.

"All right, Dangler…_open your eyes._"

And she did not react in _quite _the way he had wanted her to – she was supposed to take on that possessive, menacing grin, the one that controlled and the one that inspired fear, as she whispered and murmured of the thousand terrible deaths that would befall this "clockwork fiend", and she would laugh loudly about how his frame would _absolutely give out _underneath her overwhelming ability to cause pain, regardless of whether the recipient was capable of feeling it or not.

No, she did none of that, and Hunter felt none of the triumph that he had fabricated and imagined as he wound through the alleyways, re-tracing the path in which he had come through, carrying the marionette as if he was the prey that would be fed to Dangler, the ravenous, wrathful lioness with a raging, yet controlled hunger.

Instead, she had left his side in a heartbeat – she had shaken his hands off of her shoulders as if she was shrugging off a cape or a shawl without a second thought before rushing to the prone clockwork with hurried steps, sinking to her knees beside him and simply _staring in awe, _all thoughts of Hunter entirely forgotten, at least for the moment.

No glory, only dread.

_Only dread. _

"Such a…such a _perfect _thing…oh…"

It slithered, like a giant snake, down his throat and into his gut, where it proceeded to twist and turn to its unreachable satisfaction.

"_Beautiful…perfectly beautiful…where did you…"_

_Only dread._

"You know…I _love…perfect _things…."

_Only dread._

_Only ever dread._

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**I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of history behind Hunter - and, specifically, the initiating events of Dangler's obsession.**

**Review!**

** \- Severina**


	3. Chapter 3

**3: Company**

_Misery loves company. _

She had heard that phrase _somewhere – _although _exactly _where, she could not pinpoint or even vaguely remember – but had not quite understood it until now.

And even _now, _it still perplexed her.

_Now, _as she stood in front of the shattered mirror that had been hanging on the wall of her cabin, pieces of broken glass littering the ground around her feet, her bleeding hand clenched into a firm fist.

She was miserable, quite miserable –

And yet, despite what that phrase had claimed, she was certain that the company of another was the _last _thing that she wanted – God _forbid _Samantha or Jewel were to see her like this.

"Commander, it appears that you are bleeding – "

"Oh, REALLY?!" Sydney shrieked, spinning around to face Quintus, her facial features contorted into an animalistic expression of what the clockwork had learned to identify as _rage. _

"Really? _Really?_" She scoffed, bringing her bloodstained hand to her heart in a sarcastic display of shock, "You think that I haven't _noticed?!" _

"There is no doubt that you were aware, Commander. It is just that you did not seem to be doing anything to prevent it."

_That is true, _Sydney mentally admitted, some of her anger miraculously dispelling for the time being at knowing that her denial to do so was her own conscious decision and not a fogged decision, rushed and hurried by the violent frenzy that seemed to boil endlessly inside of her gut.

However, that had not exactly been an unexpected occurrence – it was like using a bucket to catch water dripping from a leak in a roof. It was only a temporary solution, and eventually, the bucket would, inevitably, fill and overflow.

That was, unless it was emptied. And even_ if_ the bucket was emptied regularly, there would still always be those few moments in which the leak dripped, unregulated and unrelenting, onto the now – exposed floorboards.

This was one of those moments in which she had neglected to empty her metaphorical bucket for far too long, and was now paying the price for it.

The several cuts on her fist – across the knuckles of her fingers from where she had driven her fist into the mirror in rage and on the tips of her fingers from where she had clawed the shattered shards out of the circular frame – would heal, and like the rest, they would serve as a tally of all the times that she had, for the sake of metaphorical consistency, overflowed.

Like a prisoner tallied the number of months on his cell wall, Sydney had tallied on the walls of her own cell – as proven by the lines the criss – crossed over her upper arms, over her thighs, over her shoulders – where her crew would never see, where they never stood a chance of being revealed.

_Misery loves company. _

The phrase meant that those in misery had a tendency to drag those around them down with them – down to the depths, where they would not likely return.

She could _not _allow that – not now, while her numbers were already few and while she still required their aid – not for now.

So instead, she would mark her own months on the walls of her own cell – her cell being her body.

She did not even look at it as her own anymore, she despised it so, she was infuriated at such a large amount of imperfection.

There was everything wrong about it in everywhichway she looked – this part too large, this part too weak – she envied Samantha, who was built without an Achilles' heel, or Jewel, who was so light and lithe that she did not require muscle, for when she fought, she was _Nimble, _she was _weightless_ – by God, she _flew. _

_Misery loves company. _

However, regardless of her hatred for her own frame and structure, she had vowed to herself – sworn to herself – that she would never turn to another for aid. There was mixed logic behind this, but like her loathing of her vessel, it was internal – and as long as the result was desirable, that was all that truly mattered.

_Why must you remain independent?_

Because I am a Captain.

_Oh?_

A leading figure. A role model, built and made from pure strength – any weakness is simply not allowed to be visible, you see.

_But that is where you are wrong – for here, you state that you do this for others – for your crew, am I correct?_

Is that not my duty?

_Listen to yourself! They are not worthy of such effort – no. You do this for yourself, and yourself alone. _

And it just so happens to benefit them.

_But you are still partially correct – you see, you cannot show yourself weakness, either – the knowledge of its presence will simply crush you, and any chances of your success. _

Sydney knew this conversation, for she had it with herself far too often – yet, whatever the result, her actions always ended up the same.

Same objective, each with a different cause – it was _terribly _confusing to keep track of.

_Misery loves company. _

Obviously, Sydney knew, she could not simply _banish _such misery – she was a human woman, it was absolutely impossible – therefore making it also impossible to simply refuse to acknowledge its existence, like she _should_, like her _duty commanded her, _whether that was to herself or to her crewmates.

She would not bring them down with her.

This fight was hers – hers and hers alone. She and Samantha and Jewel were tied to each other with strings of glass – one point of hypertension and the entire array would simply shatter.

But it was still impossible to be ignored – misery did love company.

And she would be her own friend, her own conversational partner - Quintus himself did not deserve to be ruined by her own imperfection, yet the ties between her and her _human _crew were far too fragile.

So she would keep herself company, at least for the time being.

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**Here, have an angsty chapter in which Sydney plays tug - of - war with her own mind :3**

**Follow and Review! My thanks to every single one of you that have!**

** \- Severina**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay, the 100 word challenge is finally coming back to life!**

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**4: Dreams**

It was nearly midnight, perhaps past – and in the small cabin below the decks of _The Grand Fife_, the one just to the left of the staircase – Samantha Hawkins lay awake, blue eyes wide open.

She was slightly frustrated at herself for this: after all, sleep was essential for the health and strength of the human body.

Without proper health of both the mind and the physical form, it would be impossible for her to retain the near – inhuman strength that she had worked _so _hard to build for _such _a long time.

On the other hand, she did not want to go back.

Not back to that – that which only reminded her of what she did not have.

Samantha Hawkins _did not want _to dream.

It was like a bittersweet hell to her whenever she did – the visions taunting her in her own mind, inescapably, over and over and over again without relenting – and although she dreamed not of death or of disaster, it brought dread to her all the same.

Countless times, almost every time, her mind had been confronted with the vision of the grey – eyed, black – haired privateer, with her slightly – slouched torso and her firmly planted legs, creating the perfect image of her Captain, the privateer Sydney Underhill – but it was not the Sydney Underhill that was now so familiar to her.

There was no scowl on her face, no snarl that curled the corners of her lips, no dark circles under her eyes. Her cheekbones were not shadowed and her flesh was not greyish and sunken – rather, she looked unusually healthy.

And she _smiled, _as well. That was the worst part, the buccaneer had concluded, that was the worst part, for the smile only served to remind her of what she had no longer.

She vaguely remembered a time when Sydney smiled so, and it seemed so distant, so far off. The privateer had morphed into a different person now, and for the worse.

Back then, Sydney was the kind, welcoming teenage girl that had decided to show more compassion than expected after finding a stowaway buccaneer below the decks of the enormous black ship, which had visibly dominated any other ship that the blue – eyed girl had every seen.

Instead of engaging her in combat or growing furious at such a finding, she had extended a helping hand – an offer, per say, to finally live her potential as opposed to the life she was originally destined for.

Pulling in ships and tying them down, day after day, as an apprentice of the dockmaster of Skull Island, was what she owed her impossible strength to, but had she been forced to continue that for the rest of her life, Samantha would have gone mad.

It was a limiting job, and it held her back from what she was _truly _capable of doing – being a contributing agent of the Resistance.

Sydney had given her such an opportunity, and she had been ever grateful.

Samantha dreamed of that day, she re – lived that moment nightly, for she truly and dearly missed the Sydney Underhill that she had encountered on that day, before the privateer had turned sour and bitter, like a fruit gone rotten.

She often wondered _what _it was that had made her Captain's personality change so drastically – was it the added stress of finally breaking ties with the Resistance? Or perhaps the burden of supporting two other people in addition to herself?

_If there was a way to fix you, Sydney, _Samantha had often silently pleaded, _tell me. _

_Let me be useful for one time in my life. _

But no words would come from the privateer, and Samantha would be left to wallow in her own unending worry and her dreams of the past.

She wished she could reverse time, to when Sydney had been so full of optimism and motivation instead of exhaustion and irritation.

Such a leader did not deserve to be in such a condition, not with her kindness, not with her talent and ability. She should have her dreams fulfilled, Samantha believed, and her health in a constant optimal condition. It was like a sickness, some sort of _virus, _this onset of monotone and the sudden lack of all emotion, expression, and drive, and there was no cure in sight.

_Let me help you._

No, Sydney would silently reply, let me be. You would not dare, she would wordlessly say, to question my intent.

_But there is something wrong with you. _

This was not the future that the buccaneer had dreamed of when Sydney had first extended that hand several years ago, and it saddened her greatly.

It made her break a little, internally, although she would not _dare _to show it on her outer image, every time that she would see the Captain emerge from her cabin after yet another long, sleepless night, her torso unbalanced on her tired legs and her limp eyelids threatening to fall uncontrollably over her thoroughly – bloodshot eyes.

Sydney had been all that she could ever ask for, at first – welcoming, organized, structured, calm, supportive – and to have that wrenched away from her in the short span of a year's worth was almost unbearable.

_I dreamed of a sister._

Sometimes, Samantha would dare to compare it to a chronic disease of sorts.

_I dreamed of a friend._

She did not want to be useless anymore, not now, not when she had needed the privateer's support for the last several years of her life and was being given the opportunity to repay that debt.

It was her turn to be the stone wall now, to shield her Captain from the unavoidable, taxing bothers of daily life while she repaired herself, for she had gone without such repair for far, far too long.

But Sydney would turn her away – the privateer's stubborn pride would get in her way and take control of her mind. It seemed to be the only thing remaining of the woman that she had once known, that pride.

On most nights, Samantha dreamed that the rust had been removed from her idol, and that it shone with everlasting brightness once again.

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**And here we have a little backstory, as well as a look inside the mind of Samantha Hawkins.**

**Do review! I'd love to know what you think!**

** \- Severina**


	5. Chapter 5

**Now that "Common Motives" itself is finished, this is coming back to life! It will likely be updated twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays.**

**Also, just a heads up - although the chapters are currently 1k words each, starting at around chapter 10 or so (as I have written ahead) they will be shortened to 500 words each. This is simply because if I were to ****continue doing 1k words per chapter, I would sooner or later run out of storyline XD**

**And now, with that said, enjoy!**

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**5: Pirate**

Sixty-eight.

Sixty – eight years of function, of weathering to her frame, of exposure to every unexpected twist and turn – and yet she still did not understand.

Prima Militus had found herself, once again, "stumped", as she had heard the humans say it before. It was a rather unrefined term for a lack of knowledge, she had deducted, that was quite often used by the humans.

She had fought against the resistance for over half of a century, and yet she still could not reach a conclusion as to _why. _

_Why would one wish to become a Pirate?_

There was no _honor, _really, in living a life of lawlessness – one simply did what they wanted when they wanted, without a single care in the world for collective glory or anything that was beyond individual gain.

They were imperfect beings living imperfect lifestyles – and, rather contrary to the general Armada thoughts of the Resistance, she harbored _fascination _for them as well as hatred.

It must have taken an awfully _powerful _source of motivation, she concluded, in order to cause hundreds of thousands of these _pirates _to unite against a common enemy –

_Them. _

Having been given nearly seven decades to gather experience, Prima had learned that it was just as important to learn from one's enemies as well as to defeat them – and she wished to learn from them.

Such a coercive force, such a _unifier – _and it had been repeatedly proven that the leaders of the Resistance had not exercised _mind control _over their own agents, which left Prima to conclude that their unity had been achieved by the _motivation _of the _individuals _alone.

"Commodore."

Relinquishing her iron grip on the railing of the massive battleship, Prima spun sharply on her heel to meet the gaze of the musketeer officer Servus Albus, the Captain of the white Cadre – he and his soldiers were to accompany her on this mission.

"Do you wish to report, Captain?"

"Affirmative, Commodore – we are less than twenty minutes from our destination."

From _Skull Island. _

The pirate haven.

They were to _destroy _it, to _demolish _it, on the Supreme Commander's orders – and it was for this very reason that Prima wished that she had been sent with _both _Cadres rather than solely the White Cadre of musketeers.

The Black Cadre, the Supreme Commander had assisted, would provide as a security force during the Commodore's absence – and she thought this decision _extremely _unwise.

Having commanded and led the Cadres for thirty years, ever since their creation, she had come to know every one of their strengths and weaknesses – and had eventually come to conclude that they truly were counterparts to each other – with the marines covering for the musketeer's physical fragility, and the musketeers providing a ranged source of attack, as well as the agility that the marines did not have.

It made no _sense _to her to only send _one _of the Cadres – although the Supreme Commander had insisted that they would _not _intend to engage in combat, and that their only goal was to demolish (hence the copious amounts of fire charges that the clockworks of the White Cadre had been armed with), Prima still held the firm opinion that it would have been better to send their marine counterparts along with them.

After all, if this mission was intended to be a _permanent _destruction of the pirate haven, they would likely be met with some form of resistance – and given that she, as well as the Captain, were musketeers, neither of the two officers could provide any sort of cover for the shortfalls presented by their soldiers.

It was at times like this that Prima wished that she were in possession of more authority – although she was as powerful as a single clockwork soldier could become.

Perhaps, she thought, _that _was the appeal of piracy – the idea of being in full command of your own actions, without _any _sort of authoritative figure looming over you.

Instantly, Prima shamed herself for letting such thoughts enter her mind, even if it had only been for a brief second –

_My allegiance remains true to the Supreme Commander. _

It had for sixty-eight years and it would only continue to do so, of that she was certain – for _never _would she let anarchy rule her, _never _would she fall out of the magnificent system to which she was such a crucial piece.

"Commodore, for the sake of clarification – we are to _demolish_ via the fire charges?"

Prima nodded once, her gaze still pinned to the horizon.

"Affirmative, Captain – make sure that you and your soldiers avoid as _much _unnecessary conflict as possible – if the pirates come within a close enough proximity to engage in close – ranged combat, I fear that we will not last very long at all."

Servus paused, letting Prima's words sink in.

"Understood…Commodore…" He replied hesitantly, "Although, with all due respect – I do calculate that this mission would have had a better chance of success, had the Captain and soldiers of the Black Cadre been sent with us."

The Commodore could not have agreed more – it would have improved their chances _dramatically – _yet, this was a mission that carried risk for even the immobile members of the Armada, stationed back in Valencia, and the marine counterparts of the White Cadre had been held back, should Prima's mission fail.

Some part of her wondered if these thoughts were unconscious doings of her own vast archive of human emotions, never to be used, only to be kept for knowledge – and she berated herself for _losing control _in such a manner, even if it had only been for a short second.

Risk and sacrifice, after all, was a _necessary _factor within her occupation – and she would move forwards through it all, just as she had for the last sixty – eight years, for the _glory of the Armada. _

However, she was then yanked out of the musings of her own mind as the ship lurched to an abrupt stop, a loud _thud _signalizing the drop of the ship's anchor.

They had _arrived _at the pirate haven –

_And the island would not live to see the day._

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**I hope you enjoyed - make sure to subscribe and review!**

**Until the next update (Sunday),**

** \- Severina**


	6. Chapter 6

**6: Passions**

Witchdoctor training had come quite _easily_ to Hunter Chamberlain – of the sessions that he had attended, the talents that he displayed often placed him at the top of his class, and it was _rare _for another to topple him – if they did, the sixteen – year – old heir would quickly regain his rightful position within less than three days.

Even with his alternating training schedule – attending witchdoctor training on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays while attending privateer training on the remaining days, with Sunday serving as a break for both students and instructors, Hunter _still _managed to dominate many of his peers in terms of talent – all save for _two. _

He knew who his privateer competitor was – how could he _not, _when he saw her _every day? _

Her name was Sydney Underhill – she was a rather _solid _girl a few years younger than he was, roughly around thirteen or fourteen years old. _Solid _had seemed to be the only fitting adjective, really – for she, her features, her voice, her demeanor – was _earthly, _she was _grounded, _much like a statue.

Many of the girls in his training sessions – both witchdoctors and privateers alike – came across to him as _airy, _as lightweight and _floating. _

It was not necessarily _good, _nor was it _bad – _it was just something that he had _noticed. _Most would not _notice _this girl, at least not at first glance, then again, for she was rather _dull – _he had only known her due to her skill, and the challenge that she presented him.

Hunter had not talked to her – he had not had any interaction with her besides the occasional spar or duel in training, and she was the most _uninteresting _out of his two competitors.

Of course, he had only come to such a conclusion due to the fact that his witchdoctor competitor had never been _seen. _

Their scores were always displayed, always posted, of course – and Vadima talked of them just as often as she did of he, referring to them as "my star pupil."

They were not given a gender, nor a name – and it was _truly _bad timing, for they seemed to attend sessions on the days that Hunter did _not, _and therefore, he had never once seen his challenger's face.

That was, until that _day. _

It had started out much like any _one _of his witchdoctor training days – he would wake up early, grab his staff, and practice outside for a few hours before heading to the sanctum, warmed up and ready to fight – for today was a challenging day, in which the students could challenge each other for positions and rankings among the class.

Being at the top of the class, Hunter naturally received the most challenges – and although they were truly not much of a _challenge _for him to overcome, despite their name, it was important not to underestimate his rivals – that had been one of the first lessons that he had learned via privateer training.

There were only a few students that had arrived at the sanctum before him, naturally – most of them were likely attempting to squeeze in some last – minute practicing, just like one would before a written exam, which were present in the Skull Island training programs, although they were rare.

Hunter seated himself against the ring of pillows, laying his staff across his lap – and it _must _have then been time for the class to begin, as it was only now that the rest of the trainees began to trickle in, and Madame Vadima, the witchdoctor trainer, stood before walking to the center of the ring –

"As you know, today is challenge day – " Her tone was abrupt and harsh, as they were her most advanced class, and she did not bother to waste time with gentle introductions or filler sentences – "and it is best that we start this session as soon as possible, for there is a matter that I would like to take care of beforehand."

_Probably a date announcement of a written exam, _Hunter thought with boredom, looking at the other less – adept trainees around him with an air of distain.

"Hunter Chamberlain."

The boy started in surprise – he had _not _expected that. Instantly, his mind flew through every regulation that he had ever possibly broken – what _else _could he have done to cause this –

"My star pupil wishes to meet you – she usually takes private classes on these days, but has elected to join us today."

And by meet, of course, she had meant _challenge – _it had been implied in the most _obvious _manner.

Turning to one of the corners of the room, Vadima made a single beckoning motion, and a girl of no more than sixteen – Hunter's own age – stepped forth.

She looked quite like a miniature version of the witchdoctor trainer herself – the girl had darkened, copper skin, and her thick hair had been arranged neatly in a large braid that now hung over one of her shoulders. She was not thin nor particularly large – rather, she was _curvaceous, _or _voluptuous, _as a grown man would say.

Her eyes were grey – such a light shade that they seemed nearly _white, _and his breath had stopped when they had fixed on his own, the temperature of the entire room seeming to then rise several degrees mysteriously –

"My name is Dangler – and I'll be challenging you today."

Her voice in itself seemed to carry her very appearance – it was smooth, soaring, melodious, and Hunter shook his head several times to clear it from his mind – where it enveloped his trained senses like a red fog of sorts.

Raising his staff into combat position, Hunter watched as the girl – _Dangler – _calmly walked to the other side of the room before planting her feet in the stabilizing stance, raising her arms as she did so.

"Wait - ! Don't you need your _staff?!" _

Hunter was perplexed – who did she think she _was?! _ After all, it would not be a fair fight if she –

"Of course not!"

The corners of her dark lips turned upwards in the hint of a smile.

"I do appreciate your _concern, _Hunter – although I _assure _you, it is _not needed."_

_What?! _

And then, before he could even begin to cast his first spell, Dangler had thrust her arms upwards and out, towards him, and a _crushing _force enveloped the entirety of his torso, effectively knocking the wind out of him, before yanking him to the ground, stopping just short of slamming his face into the floor.

Everything had _spun _before Hunter's eyes as the coil – like force that had toppled him seemed to dissipate, and he fell the last few inches to the ground, shaken and dizzied and confused beyond all reason.

"And I _do _think that we are done here – _good match!_"

Hunter looked up to find that Dangler was standing directly above him, staring into his own brown eyes with her eerily light ones before turning and walking towards the entrance of the sanctum, giving him a last teasing glance before exiting.

And it was only then that the defeated witchdoctor realized that he was in _love._

* * *

**And there you have it - how Hunter had first met Dangler, and a lot about Dangler's seemingly unknown history. **

**Be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	7. Chapter 7

**7: The First Time**

Wrapping the rope around her torso, Samantha Hawkins turned her body towards the mainland and tugged – it did not take a _lot_ of initial force to pull the raft in, and after she had gotten it to slowly drift forwards and into the docks, it was only a matter of maintaining the momentum.

The muscles in her legs strained to prevent her from sliding back, although this was only for a short while – she had soon gathered enough force to pull the raft seamlessly forwards, and sighed in relief and satisfaction at the weight and force that had been lifted from her form.

Just like she had been taught, Samantha then turned, unwinding the rope around her torso as she securely tied it onto one of the poles of the dock, looking up at the "Captain" of the raft and smiling brightly.

The Captain – who was obviously a beginning sailor, judging by her excuse for a ship and age – stared back in shock at Samantha – for the black – haired, blue – eyed girl looked and truly was no more than twelve years old.

Even though rafts were considered the extreme lightweights of ships (and in most areas, they were not even considered to be ships at all), they still weighed a considerable amount more than a human being – and, naturally, they took a considerable amount of strength to pull.

And a twelve-year-old girl had done it.

Stretching her arms, Samantha gave a short wave to the shell – shocked girl – who was still wearing the same expression that Samantha had received _so _many times, regardless of the fact that she could not find out _why – _and she immediately ran off, jogging a few piers down to tug in the next waiting raft.

It had been the tenth raft of today – slightly less than usual, much to Samantha's surprise.

She was not tired at _all – _aside from the temporary sweat that she would inevitably break from yanking in an object that was over five times her own body weight, the young girl felt relatively energized and ready.

After all, she had been doing this very same thing every day for the past year and a half, and by now, she was quite used to it.

It was quite _ironic, _she realized, now that she thought back to the first time that she had pulled in such a pathetic excuse for a ship – at that time, when she was no more than ten years old, the task had seemed nearly impossible – but the Dockmaster, who had raised her since she was a baby, had stood by her, and coached her through it all without lending a single ounce of aid – and in the end, although it had exhausted the young girl, she had just _barely _managed to pull in and tie down the raft.

Now, she laughed out loud just _thinking _about this experience – it came so _easily _to her now, this task, generating this force and this strength on her own.

Having finished pulling in the eleventh raft, Samantha now stepped back and wiped her forehead, looking over to the left at the man who had been her caregiver and mentor –

As he hauled in a _massive _galleon of colossal size and weight, firmly yanking the ship into the docks before tying it down.

Samantha was in awe – even though she had seen him perform the very same feat for what must have been every day of her life, it amazed her no less every time.

"Sam!"

The dockmaster's bellowing voice carried easily across the multiple piers that currently separated them, and it quickly yanked Samantha out of her thoughts. She instantly took off running towards him, skidding to a halt as she arrived at the furthest pier.

"Reporting for duty!" The girl snapped into a playful salute – however, she quickly lowered her hand upon seeing that this conversation had a more serious note.

"I've been monitoring your progress, Samantha, and you've grown strong – it's time for you to begin pulling in skiffs."

Skiffs – although they were the smallest of true ships, they were certainly much larger and heavier than _rafts – _and along with the increase in size, they also presented an increase in challenge.

Nevertheless, she was _happy – _overjoyed, even, for she was _never _one to back down from a challenge, and she had considered it an _honor _to be considered worthy of an attempt at such a physical feat.

"Go on."

The dockmaster motioned towards a rope that lay coiled on the wooden planks of the pier, obviously having been thrown from the ship that the other end was attached to – it was a small skiff, and judging by the number of barnacles that coated its sides, it had been in commission for quite a while.

If anything, this would only _add _more weight, she knew.

Approaching the rope hesitantly, Samantha gripped it and wound it around her torso before turning back towards the mainland, just as she had done hundreds of times before, and tugged hard –

To no avail.

It was only _then _that Samantha fully realized what a _feat _her twelve – year – old body had to perform –

Taking a large breath, Samantha forced it out of her lungs harshly, straining with all of her might as she struggled to lean forwards, her face turning red from the exertion –

_This must be TWENTY times the weight of the raft – _

And, she thought, as she nearly felt her vision go _black, _she nearly felt the snaps of her ribs as they collapsed inwards under the weight and the resistance force of the ship, transferred through the rope wound around her, until she _finally _felt the ship move.

Her energy rekindled, Samantha now pulled with a burst of strength that she had never felt before, slowly inching her feet forwards and bringing the ship right along with her, although she was pushed further past her physical limit with each and every step –

"_Bloody hell…_did _you _just do that?!"

The Captain of the ship stood frozen at the helm of his skiff, utterly confused and surprised as to what he had just seen, just like all of Samantha's other witnesses had been before – but she barely acknowledged it, instead lazily reaching down to tie the ship firmly to the pier before flopping onto her back, her energy drained, her foster father's words of encouragement tuned out by the silent, yet deafening sound of her own shock at her actions.

"I've…._done _it! My first skiff…!" She breathed, pumping her fist weakly in the air as she slowly got back to her feet, basking in the glory of this new achievement.

It was only a skiff, of course – the smallest of vessels, besides the raft, and her own strength was still _nothing _compared to that of the dockmaster, who tugged in dozens of galleons by the day – but then again, she reminded herself, who knew? She certainly had many years to practice, to build her strength, to keep pushing her own limits again and again and again, and maybe, she thought, a smile curving its way onto her face, _she _would, one day, pull in her very first galleon.

_Maybe someday._

* * *

**And there you have it - a little bit of Sam's backstory, as well as an explanation for her crazy strength.**

**I hope you enjoyed - be sure to leave a REVIEW!**

** \- Severina**


	8. Chapter 8

**8: Opposites**

It really had been quite fortunate for the blue – eyed woman – _Samantha Hawkins, _Jewel mentally reminded herself, that the Captain of the massive ship that they were currently on had found her in time.

Her case of the Monquistan flu had been rather _advanced _by the time Jewel had started the herbal treatment, and she had been shocked that neither Samantha nor her Captain, Sydney, had noticed before –

_Then again, _Jewel once again scolded herself – she was often forgetful – _she had come to me in a state of desperation…_

It was likely that she had already been searching for a cure long before their encounter in the storehouse, Jewel concluded, for a cure to a disease of this severity was fairly rare, and the mortality rates that it had reaped up during its outbreak within Monquista had been frighteningly high – it truly _had _been a stroke of luck for the woman that now lay on the cot before her.

Samantha laid still on her back, wrapped in what looked like multiple thin blankets, as her body shivered and shook, a layer of sweat coating her forehead – she looked absolutely _miserable, _and Jewel understood completely, as the breaking of a fever was often the worst part of it, even though it all but ended the symptoms, most of the time.

Sitting back in her chair, Jewel awkwardly attempted to make conversation – it would, perhaps, take Samantha's mind off of her own illness.

"So…how're you feeling?"

_Oops_.

That certainly hadn't been right – yet, much to Jewel's surprise, Samantha _answered, _without the slightest hint of offense.

"Better than yesterday."

"Well…that's good…?"

Jewel internally sighed in relief – at least she was able to _speak_.

"Yeah…Sydney told me that I'd probably be dead if she hadn't found you."

And it was probably true – given at how unaware that both Samantha and Sydney had seemed to be of Samantha's symptoms, her chances of recovery would have been frighteningly low.

"Your Captain…" Jewel now took a different route of conversation – after all, the objective of this had been to take Samantha's mind _off _of the illness – "She asked me if I wanted to join her crew."

There was silence as Samantha's eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, and for a moment, Jewel feared rejection –

"You should!" In response, the blue-eyed girl broke into a wide grin, even though she was wrapped in blankets up to her neck. "You'd love it here! Syd's really nice, and we'd go on all _sorts _of adventures…"

However, Jewel only shook her head in denial.

"I can't…there's no way."

"How come?!"

Samantha had tried to abruptly sit up at that point, and Jewel pushed her back down, planting a hand firmly on her broad chest to prevent the same thing from occurring again.

"Well…" Jewel glanced away, partially ashamed. "There's no way I'd be able to make it. I mean, you're _ridiculously _strong…and so is your Captain."

"But you almost _defeated _her!"

"That was only because it was a surprise attack…if it was a face – to – face combat, there's no _way _that I would have won…I had to sneak up on her."

Samantha seemed to pause and think at this, and her thin eyebrows knit together in thought before she spoke again, although only after several minutes had passed.

"You know, that's not a _bad _thing – where me and Syd come from, there's a whole _group _of people that specialize in stuff like that – we call them _swashbucklers._"

Being a buccaneer, of a skill set and physical build _completely _opposite of that of the swashbucklers, Samantha had always admired them – for they could do what she could _never _achieve.

They could be invisible, silent, _nonexistent, _until they were to _strike. _

While Samantha herself had the advantage of crushing strength beyond all imagination, swashbucklers had the element of _surprise – _something that neither she nor Sydney, who had trained as a buccaneer secondarily, could ever hope to attain.

"You have different…_specialty _groups…?" Jewel blinked quickly, confused as to what she had just heard, and Samantha quickly rushed to clarify.

"Yeah, they're called classes – and we've got five of them. I'm a buccaneer, which means I'm strong – and Sydney's a privateer, for leadership."

It made sense, Jewel thought – such a system taught the proper usage of natural talents and abilities, and it lessened the wasting of time on other fields that certain individuals had little interest or ability in.

"Well, that's only three that you've mentioned…what are the other two?"

"They're Musketeers and Witchdoctors," Samantha explained, her voice now much more lively (albeit congested) than before. "The musketeers are ranged fighters – that's self explanatory – and the witchdoctors work with hoodoo. Personally, I've always found them kind of creepy."

"I can only imagine…" Jewel agreed, for even though she had never _seen _a witchdoctor up close and in person, their trade did seem rather eerie, based on the description that Samantha had given to her.

Yet, however, for some strange reason that she could not quite place her finger on, Jewel could not help but still _compare _herself to Samantha, the brutish woman, the _buccaneer _who could likely snap her in two if she wanted to (even though Samantha was strangely benevolent).

Even through the thin blankets, Jewel could see that Samantha had somewhat of an hourglass figure – except it was not the dainty, feminine type that seemed to be overly beautified in almost every world that she had been to or collected from. Rather, Samantha's form was absolutely covered and sewn with muscle.

She was the literal opposite of Jewel herself, and this thought somewhat pleased her – for if she _were _to take Sydney's offer, if she _were _to join this crew, she and Samantha would fit together "like yin and yang", as her parents would say.

Samantha was the large and she was the slender, Samantha was the strong, the brazen and overpowering, and she was the silent, the swift and the deadly.

They truly were perfect opposites, in every way, shape, and form – and they would make the _perfect team._

* * *

**Here's some Jewel and Sam stuff :3 They're generally kindhearted characters, but you don't get to see that unobstructed in CM.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to leave a REVIEW!**

** \- Severina**


	9. Chapter 9

**9: Growing Up**

Throughout her childhood years, under the care of Madame Vadima herself, Dangler had never had a last name.

She had never known why, and she had never questioned it.

All she knew was that while the other witchdoctor trainees had full names, such as Alex Ashford or Isabel Jackson, or even, after they had gained a reputation, a name with an _adjective, _such as Virtuous Lucas Quarton – she had a _single _name – Dangler – and it sounded neither feminine nor graceful, not like "Ashley" or "Helen."

And when she had _asked _her teacher and foster parent, Vadima had calmly and evenly replied that she was named for the way she played with the rats – poking them with a stick, draining their energy slowly as she swung them from their tails, back and forth and back and forth, _dangling _just like a pendulum.

You will come to appreciate it in time, Vadima had said – for she knew the name was unusual, it was not _common_ – it sounded more like a criminal nickname that one would place on a wanted poster.

Naturally, the grey – eyed witchdoctor prodigy, who was little more than eight at the time, had _not _understood – and she had run away, back to her bedchamber, and scrambled to find the mirror that was hidden inside her bedside table, needing _reassurance, _needing _certainty _that her reflection had not changed.

Vadima had always scolded her for being vain – it was her one _flaw, _she had often said – yet, Dangler could _not _prevent it nor hide it.

She _loved _to look in the mirror.

Dangler loved to play with her hair in the mirror, for she had so much of it, and it was thick, long, and black – she would braid it, brush it, comb it, until it fell over her shoulder just the way she wanted it to.

She was a beautiful girl – Vadima had said so, countless others had told her, and she had come to realize it for herself.

And Dangler did not _understand, _why she had been named for how she had played with the rats, why she had been named for the _spiders. _

Spiders were not _beautiful – _and so why had she been _named _for one? It was an _outrage, _in her eyes, a crime, a mistake – for she was a _much _better type of beautiful than the redheaded or blond – haired girls who would seat themselves around Vadima during the morning training session, no matter _how _much makeup they would put on.

_I am better, _Dangler had always told herself, _I am prettier, I am beautiful – _

And yet, she did not _dare _to voice this aloud – for when others bestowed compliments upon her appearance, they were welcomed, but when she spoke such words herself, they were frowned upon, and she was seen as _vain. _

Spiders were _not _beautiful, she had insisted – spiders were these repulsive creatures, these eight – legged almost – insects, and there was _nothing _beautiful about them.

However, at that time, Dangler would _never _know of what she would grow to become – of how she would stand towering, at five feet and ten inches, over most of her opponents, and she would not know of how her body would so wonderfully fill her corset in just six years.

And although she had been _talented, _yes, at the age of eight, she had not possessed any sort of knowledge as to just _how _powerful she would become – how she would be able to command the forces of the shadows and the dark and the unseen like a puppet master, with hardly any effort at all.

She would become Vadima's _star pupil, _she would become the _ultimate prize – _she would become _everything _that she had ever dreamed to be, and she would be _surrounded _by her beloved _beautiful things. _

Dangler was still privately trained by Vadima throughout her entire life – she had only gotten to sit in the shadowed corner near the back of the sanctum and _watch _the group training sessions, the subjects of which ranged from the pre – teen novices to the most advanced of the island.

And although the masters were _advanced, _oh yes, and they performed _summoning _spells such as _Wyvern's Song, _Dangler had never seen another perform _her _sort of magic.

Her magic was _different, _she had always been told, and she did not attend classes because there simply were no others who could perform them with her, and so Vadima would help her master her own talents and techniques – in solitude.

In addition to summoning other entities from the limbo of the spirit – world, from the realm of the dead, Dangler learned how to split the very earth beneath her and draw out _tens, _then _hundreds, _and then _thousands _of black snakes – black snakes with thorns, black snakes that were fully and completely under her command.

She was taught to draw the energy from the very matter around her, so that the strange, wispy black smoke would float over and around her head, shape – shifting and twisting, also at _her command. _

It was only once Dangler had truly trained that she had begun to appreciate her given name.

_Dangler – for how you play with the rats. _

Poking them, _draining _them, torturing them, all while swinging them, _dangling _them, back and forth and back and forth.

_For the spider that lurks in the corner. _

The black widow spider – a small, near – invisible creature that carried a poison that none could match, a poison that delivered inescapable fatality, that _murdered _and then _feasted on the remains _of their mate after they had been "put to use," so to speak.

And it was only then, only then when Dangler had grown, that she had learned to carry her name with _pride_.

* * *

**Here's Dangler's story going even further back :) She was always an interesting character to write with, but seeing the contrast between her sane and insane persona is just as interesting, if not more, in my opinion as a writer.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and please don't forget to leave a review, no matter who you are! Yes, guests, that means you too :)**

** \- Severina**


	10. Chapter 10

**And just so you all know, _this _is where the length of the chapters gets shortened. Again, it's really just because this length is less awkward for me to write "short stories" at without getting so far into the plot that I'll ramble on for a million years.**

**With that said, enjoy!**

* * *

**10: Drowning**

There was a quote, a phrase that the humans had often uttered, or cited in their literature –

_A drowning man will clutch at a straw. _

As a clockwork, when Decimus had first come to hear it, he had not fully understood it, for it simply did not make any logical _sense. _

A straw – a small, lightweight stalk of dried grain that weighed no more than a feather – it was most _certain _that it would not be able to support even the weight of an insect, let alone a man.

Reaching for such an object would be futile – it would neither prevent drowning, nor provide flotation, and thus, Decimus had been unable to comprehend.

However, now, after just four _weeks _within the captivity of Hunter Chamberlain and his _partner, _Dangler – an unusually crazed female with a strange and _sickening _lust that he had never seen before – Decimus had come to understand this phrase _much _more than ever before.

He now waded in infinite pain.

He _drowned _in pain – he was soaked with it daily, for the two of them would indulge in his misery and his confusion and his _torment _in the late hours of the night, when many of the residents of the island would be sound asleep.

Of course, he could only _assume _that they came by night – he had no true way to tell the time of day, and ever since his cognitive timekeeping system had been severely offset by the period of time in which he had not been _terminated, _but instead without _consciousness, _the return of the two witchdoctors was his only marker.

They could have been coming every two _hours, _for all he knew – and he still would have thought of it as a _day, _had Decimus not given up attempting to keep time within a week of his abduction.

It was the same routine each time – but the continuity did not diminish the pain or terror of it in any way.

_He – _Hunter – would stand beside Decimus, and occasionally speak taunting, tormenting words – of how he was here for their _amusement, _of how his pain, this torture, would be _everlasting, _it would be _infinite, _for he was a _clockwork _and he could _not _die from neglect – only from inflictions – and they would be _sure _to keep him alive.

They intended to make him pay for the actions of the _entire _clockwork Armada –

All of this _revenge, _the humans called it, inflicted onto the fragile frame of a single clockwork marksman.

However, this was not _fully _accurate – there was much more than just _revenge _behind each lash of the wicked whip that Dangler wielded, fishhooks tearing into and through his skin, ripping _ribbons _of it off of his back as his vision swam before him, as sounds blurred together within his processor –

It was almost _cruel _that they did not just _terminate _him – he would have _begged _for it, had he still been able to speak.

Yet, as horrid as their methods were, as much pain as they brought him – he remained alive, functioning, _drowning _in infinite pain without so much as a breath of air –

_A drowning man will clutch at a straw. _

Decimus finally understood.

* * *

**Yeah, I literally halved the length - but trust me, it's way less awkward for me to write this way. **

**Hopefully, this was enjoyable to you - please make sure to leave a review, it does encourage me more than you would ever imagine :)**

** \- Severina**


	11. Chapter 11

**11: Rejection**

Benjamin had never forgotten Sydney Underhill, even when several years had passed after her disappearance.

Her fate had been undetermined – she had been within the Underhill manor one night, and she had disappeared the next, without any signs of a struggle – she was not _killed, _most likely – she had simply disappeared.

And it had now been eight years since he had last seen her – it had been eight years since they had run through the back alleyways together, as the folds of her silk dress flying around her as she struggled to stay balanced in her obnoxiously high – heeled shoes – she had not been much competition for a running race, Benjamin remembered, and this brought a slight smile to his face.

They had been the best of friends, and he truly did miss her.

After all, he had thought of her as his younger sister –

Or so he _attempted _to convince himself.

Her image had not remained _frozen _in his mind, as many acquaintances of the disappeared had done to her – he had not kept her face at the mere age of twelve.

Instead, her image aged right along with him – growing, her stick – figured body developing curves and muscles, her chin and nose remaining pointed as her face became more slender, her jaw more angular.

He celebrated her birthday in solitude each year – no different than when she had resided within Marleybone, for even then, she would be forced to remain in the manor for many elaborate celebrations – many of which she would rant to him about the next time that she was able to sneak out, and he remembered these conversations in great detail – each word, each syllable, in her brash, projecting voice that had often gotten her called out for being _unladylike, _just like half of the things that she did.

Benjamin had attempted to age her voice as well, even though this was a slightly harder task – he imagined that her voice would only deepen, although it would maintain its internal support, its coarseness and its power.

Every year, he had aged her with him – and it was not long before he found himself developing _feelings _for this image, despite the fact that it was entirely self – created.

He was filled with disgust for himself at this – for all he knew, she could have been _dead – _she could have grown up elsewhere, and she could have looked _entirely _different than his mental image –

What an embarrassment that would be, if he were to, miraculously, come face to face with her again one day, only to discover that his mind had gotten senselessly carried away with his _best friend's _appearance.

Not to mention the fact that even if she _were _to appear before him again one day, he would never be able to _express _these feelings.

Aging or no aging – Sydney had always _rejected_ the idea of romantic feelings, either given or reciprocated.

Most girls that had been at her age – at the age of twelve, as she had been when they had last spoken – dreamed of marrying a rich man, a handsome man, a prince perhaps, that would shower them in lavish riches and luxuries beyond any one woman's imagination.

Sydney dreamed of history books – of pages with her name written on it, across it, she dreamed of her _recognized _image, of a painting with a powerful pose.

Despite being at such a _young _age, she had already been in possession of a strange thirst for power, for achievement, for recognition that she was not likely to receive as the _daughter _of a noble family, whose destiny was to be married off to a young man with a similar background as hers –

It was a wild dream, Benjamin knew – for even if it _could _be, _Sydney Underhill _would have _never _let it be.

* * *

**Yeah, I never actually went into depth in Ben's character at all throughout CM, since he didn't play that huge of a role - but he was important to Sydney's backstory, so I'll be using him more and more throughout this.**

**I hope you enjoyed - please be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	12. Chapter 12

**This is, of course, just for clarification - but keep in mind that these short stories are not in chronological order, and that they occur at different/random points throughout the CM storyline.**

**With that said, enjoy!**

* * *

**12: Anger**

Sydney Underhill had always been one to rise quickly to rage.

She was provoked by anything, _everything – _and it was not uncommon to see her red – faced, eyes narrowed and teeth bared, either screaming at one of her crewmates, or occasionally, at herself.

The incident of this particular morning was of the latter type.

Quintus had watched her, throughout the night, while she slept – her face plastered to the sheet of parchment that had been spread out on the desk before her, the quill pen held slack in her limp hand.

This was not an uncommon sight – Quintus was quite accustomed to seeing the privateer practically collapse from exhaustion shortly past midnight, only to immediately awaken again three hours later, in a disheveled and disoriented state.

Most often, the clockwork musketeer would not disturb her – sleep was vital to the human body, he knew, and in order to prevent her health from literally falling apart at the seams, she needed all the sleep she could get.

However, _this _time, it was likely that she would _want _to be awakened – for the paper that was now beneath her forehead held the beginnings of a map, a course plan, that she had been drawing out, and without it, she and her crew could not _proceed _on their course to Marleybone.

Carefully reaching out a hand, Quintus shook his Commander's shoulder once – only for her to immediately jolt awake, nearly overturning the desk as she sprang up to her feet, her hat sliding off of her head and onto the ground.

As per usual, the dark circles beneath her eyes seemed ever prominent, and her eyes themselves were bloodshot – although slightly less than usual, which relieved the musketeer.

However, the usual sense of confusion that was often present in her eyes after awakening was not there – it had been replaced by _rage. _

_Rage – _one of the more _frightening _emotions, Quintus had learned, for he had _seen _her when she was in such a state, and it often took all of his control and restraint to prevent himself from simply _subduing _her with a low – intensity charge from his rifle.

More often than not, it would have been for her own good.

Now, Sydney snapped again into that all – too – familiar expression – the narrowed eyes, the bared teeth, the clenched fists, the colored face – as she looked around her frantically, eyes darting here and there and _everywhere. _

"Quintus…_what _happened to me…?!"

"Commander, you were exhausted – you fell into sleep exactly two hours ago."

And Sydney _screamed _in rage, she bellowed strings of blurred – together sentences as she now turned back to her desk, where her carefully – drawn plan had been mauled with ink stains from her forehead and her hands and the dropped quill.

"I was _supposed _to complete this by TODAY – how could I let my own _weakness _get the better of me?!"

Snatching up the sheet, Sydney furiously stormed out of the cabin, and her screeching – likely in the form of orders to her crew – could still be heard even after the door to her cabin had swung shut.

She had even left her hat – something that she was _rarely _seen without.

Quintus would admit – angerwas, perhaps, the one emotion he wished that he had _never _understood.

* * *

**More Sydney angst because she just has so much of it, really.**

**Personally, I can relate - falling asleep unexpectedly is somewhat confusing, especially when you were doing something important beforehand XD**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	13. Chapter 13

**13: Sea Glass**

Prima had lost _track _of the exact number of days that she had been locked within this cursed cell – bound to the wall by manacles, unable to see the light of day or _any _other light at all, for that matter.

She knew it had been many months – a year, perhaps – although she could not use the appearances of Hunter Chamberlain and his partner as a basis, for they did not have any sort of "pattern" to their visits – they seemed to be sporadic, only appearing when they wished to, on pure desire and impulse.

Decimus had not been within these dungeons for _nearly _as long, she knew – for it had been much easier to locate him, to retrieve him back in such years in which the madwoman Dangler had not quite been _mad, _in which she had looked to be a whole, complete human – at least externally.

The Armada Commodore did not fear for _herself, _regardless of the sheer amount of _time _that she had been locked up, chained up, held prisoner and captive – no.

Instead, she worried for Servus.

Servus Albus, the Captain of the White Cadre who had likely never before been exposed to the most extreme of human emotions, let alone emotions to such a frightening degree as _Dangler's _were.

He would end up like Decimus, she was _sure – _although it would take _much _longer, although _this _time, the insane witchdoctor almost seemed to have some form of restraint and self – control, for the torments that she had inflicted on Servus had only been _periodical _rather than daily, and she would only remain within the cell for a few minutes at a time.

_She would not leave…for hours…she stayed forever…! _

Nothing had made Prima Militus fear humans more than the impact that this particular woman had made on the marksman Presidos Decimus.

He had been like _glass, _so _delicate, _so _breakable…_

Even at the slightest _mention _of the witchdoctor, of Skull Island, would cause him to nearly _shatter – _for he was _cracked _glass, a pane with a million spider – cracks that just _barely _managed to hold together.

In the end, Prima had helped Decimus to bury those memories deep within his processor, to render them dormant so that they would not impede his function.

But she could _not _aid Servus in the same way, if he was to crack and to shatter – for rather than remaining on her flagship and dispatching a rescue mission, she was _here_, held _captive _with the object of her concern, unable to take action.

Vaguely, amongst her calculations of possibilities and her many analyses, Prima wondered what he was thinking now – what he feared, what he was hoping, what he was wondering –

Was he like her during her first capture, in which she had toyed with her captor's emotions and reactions in order to devise an escape – was he waiting for the _opportune moment? _

Or was he now like _Decimus, _who had given up hope far before this point, before this extent?

She prayed that he did not become glass, thin glass, _cracked _glass –

She prayed that he would not _shatter._

* * *

**Yup, Prima's super protective over her subordinates - kind of like a mother would be, in some ways. **

**Also, I am proud to announce that there will in fact be a CM sequel, by the title of "Desperate Measures" - if everything goes accordingly to my schedule, the first chapter should be released sometime in the January of 2016.**

**I hope you enjoyed this, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	14. Chapter 14

**14: Dusk**

She came for him by dusk – it was _always _the same, every day, without fail.

Tonight would be no different.

The door was slammed shut with enough force to rattle its hinges as she stormed in, heeled boots thudding loudly over the wooden planks of the floor as she discarded her hat on her desk, and undoing the buttons of her thick leather coat, flinging it overtop of the desk as well.

It was only _then _that she would come for him.

She _lunged _at him, like a wild animal on its hunt, like a _rabid _animal in its craze, and although he tried to shrink further back into the corner, away from her, it was to no avail – the muscular – legged woman dropped to her knees a few feet short of his location, skidding to a stop less than _inches _away from his bound form.

Like a predator closing in on its prey, she would close in on _him, _looming over him with a menacing, crazed smile as her gaze drilled through his very head, as if she could _see _the frantic attempts at calculations that rushed through his processor.

He could not shout, he could not evade her – and it really was all too _ironic _that throughout all of these sessions, _Custos Quintus_ was a constant bystander.

Quintus – under a different commander, a different set of wishes and whims, simply _standing by _as he watched his former Captain, Optimus Caerulus, _cower _underneath the grey – eyed privateer.

Given that he had been pressed up against the wall of the cabin, lying tied and prone and weakened in the corner, Caerulus was able to _hear _all that occurred on deck – he could _hear _her as she gave orders to her crewmembers during the day, and he could _hear _them respond.

She was _not _like this during the day – she was brief in her words and confident in her actions, she had full control over her crew, as well as any and all happenings that occurred on her ship.

One would have _never _guessed her to turn to –

"I have…such…_big plans…_for you…!"

And he could not _prevent _his _entire frame _from beginning to shake at these words, for now, her cold, pale hand rested on his arm, on his neck, and she could _feel _the heat beneath of her fingertips as the gear systems within his frame _raced – _

This was another side to her; a different, unseen side to her, for she only removed her mask at dusk, where even the sun would not be around to see her _true _face.

She led well, during the day – she made rational decisions, she plotted courses with _precision _and _accuracy _that was truly remarkable for a human Captain, and yet, by nightfall, she _transformed. _

Caerulus did not know if this was a fear tactic that she had developed in order to break him, to interrogate him, to force him to yield information, plans, or whatever else she could _possibly _be seeking – or if this was her _true _persona, which she went through great troubles to hide from her crew by day.

_Which is the mask, and which is her true face?_

By day, she was a privateer, a leader, a captain.

By dusk, Sydney Underhill was a _madwoman._

* * *

**More Sydney things because I can ^^**

**Really, she's just such an interesting character to work with - especially with how she changes throughout the storyline of CM...**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed - be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	15. Chapter 15

**15: Fight or Flight**

Presidos Decimus would forever be unable to comprehend the terror that had shot through his entire frame that night.

_That _night, which, at first, had seemed like any other night – he had patrolled the outer streets of Marleybone along with the rest of the clockwork musketeers within his patrol squadron, marching in a perfect figure eight –

Twelve steps, pivot, five steps, pivot again –

And repeat.

Perfect, _flawless, _each and every _time, _just as a proper clockwork soldier of the Armada should be –

And _that _was when he had seen her.

The tall, black – haired witchdoctor with her unfocused grey eyes, with her soaring, screeching, high – pitched laugh, her face _skeletal _and _gaunt _as she reached out for Decimus with a single black nailed hand, _reaching _to _snatch _him and _take him back – _

And then, abruptly, all at once, he _remembered her – _he remembered her image, her face, and her _memories, _and they came pouring down upon him with the force of a tsunami.

The shock that traveled up and through his frame when he had fallen to the cobblestones had been _nothing – _it had been _barely _noticeable amongst this _sea _of buried memories, buried but now _resurfaced – _

He remembered her; he remembered her _wicked _whip as she raised it above her head, as she brought it down _again _and _again _over his exposed back, the metal hooks tearing into his flesh, and he remembered the _chills _that she had sent running down his spine as she ghosted the cool flesh of her fingertips over his wounds almost _sensually_ before _burying _her nails in the torn flesh, yanking screams of pure _agony _from his throat –

_Marksman Presidos Decimus, respond!_

The rediscovery of these memories, he found, was nearly as _torturous, _as _terrifying _as when he had experienced them firsthand, and he _remembered _it now – the sweet oblivion of forgetfulness and ignorance that he had plunged back into with the help of the Armada Commodore Prima Militus, how she had helped him bury his memories only for them to _resurface _years later –

He could _not _respond – not within this _dreadful _haze, and Decimus could feel himself twitching, convulsing, shaking, as he was pulled up from the ground by two of the other marksmen within his patrol, his weight supported between them as he was moved _away – _although he could not tell the _direction, _for _all _he could see was her hands, the _same _hands that had _gripped _into the lashes on his back, the same hands that had tugged at his hair as her _ghastly _whispers enveloped his senses –

The ignorance had passed, the induced amnesia had leaped away, and it had left him exposed, with _nowhere _to hide, _nowhere _to run, and _no way to escape _from her reaching, from her shrieking laughter and her sick lusts and desires.

Her hands, which had delivered such _cruelty _to him, such _pain _and _agony _and _terror _that no being should _ever _have to experience were reaching for him once again – to take him back, to feed her _obsession _once more.

_Dangler _was coming for him, and he _could not _run.

* * *

**Yes, more Decimus torture, because I can (and because I get to post this on my birthday :D). **

**I do feel bad for him, occasionally - I've put him through so much more than he can take...but then again, it's just so _fun _to watch him break down ^^**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	16. Chapter 16

**16: Skeletons in the Closet**

It was an understatement to say that Sydney _carried _guilt – rather, she was weighed down by it, crushed underneath it, unable to move or to breathe.

Her guilt was a two – ton boulder that had planted itself squarely upon her chest, snapping her ribs and flattening her lungs and blocking off all oxygen as her face turned red and purple, as she convulsed and gasped for air.

"How could I…_do _this to them…?"

She now sat against the wall of her cabin, her knees pulled up to her chest as she stared blankly forward, without a trace of a tear in her eyes, without any _emotions, _without any _expression. _

Quintus approached her cautiously, taking slow, steady steps until he was kneeling next to his Commander before placing a hand on her hunched shoulder and shaking her form softly.

"Commander…you yourself had said that they had chosen their side."

And she had said so with the most _certainty, _the most _solidity _that had ever come from her in a single sentence. Sydney sighed heavily, and the increase of gravity within the cabin could be felt.

"And yet, I cannot help but wonder if they _would _have helped me…"

Quintus leaned back on his heels, more than a little confused – for she had just earlier stated that her crew would have _never _helped her, that they had _chosen _their sides – and she had ordered him to stun the both of them before dragging them to the brig and locking them up.

_So why now is she feeling regret for her actions?  
_

They had been, after all, completely logical.

"Such a thing would be…near impossible, Commander…I _swear _to you, you have made a logical decision."

Sydney almost _hissed – _clearly, this sort of response was not welcome.

"How would _you_ know, how would _I _know…?! I had hidden _everything _from them because I was _afraid – _maybe if I had told them earlier…!"

_Yes, maybe. _

But it was impossible to change the current course of action, as of now – and in order to provide optimal conditions, Quintus needed to _eliminate _all uncertainty from his Commander's mind – or at least as much as he could.

"They would not have, Commander – their words and actions had made it clear – "

_Their words and actions had clarified nothing other than the pain of betrayal._

" – that they would _not _have sided with you, even if you had informed them in the first place."

There was a heavy silence before Sydney responded.

"I suppose you are right…"

_Yet I cannot help but feel guilty for condemning them._

As was natural, as was human, much to her disgust and discontent – and Quintus took care not to fuel this.

In her sea of uncertainty, of guilt, he would provide a solid ground of sorts for her – so that she could anchor her mind, her thoughts, so that her sanity would not run away from her, never to return – she could not _afford _such an absence of stability.

For once, Quintus _agreed _with his Commander's twisted opinions – her emotions had overrun her, and she would have to strike them down – for the time being.

* * *

**More Sydney guilt because I can - it's pretty obvious that this is what drove her insane towards the latter part of CM.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	17. Chapter 17

**17: Six Feet Under**

_And what about the house? Have my parents forgotten about me yet?_

Sydney had said this sarcastically, jokingly, with mirth practically _dripping _from her voice – just as he had remembered.

And Benjamin Spinnaker had not known how to respond, at first, to her inquiry, for he knew the matter, and he knew the truth – that the manor _no longer stood. _

But, of course, he had not _said _this to her – eventually, he had managed to reply with _just _the right amount of sensitivity, yet with _just _the right amount of _sarcasm _that was necessary when conversing with such an individual as Sydney Underhill.

_Actually, no, surprisingly – _and it _was _surprising, as Benjamin himself knew more than _anyone _of the near – complete disregard that her parents had held for her happiness as a child –

_They sent out many search parties, all over Marleybone…they did not relent for two more years after you disappeared. _

And she had taken this with amusement, with _satisfaction, _almost – that her parents had actually made some _effort _to look for her.

_One would have thought that they would have been glad to be rid of me…it is surprising, isn't it?_

But her expression had changed then, from one of smug satisfaction to one of shock, of confusion and _disappointment. _

_But they never searched for me…themselves, did they…? _

Of course they had not, Benjamin knew, _everyone _knew – the Underhills simply _could not _be seen on the streets, out among the rest of the general public – even if it was to search for their _only child. _

_They didn't._

_I thought so. _

Her chest had heaved up and down once in a sigh, although it was impossible to tell whether it had been in sadness or in exasperation.

She had dropped the topic then in favor of working on the optical system that the two of them had been assembling for the past three hours, and they had both lapsed into a steady, focused silence as the tiny mechanisms were assembled.

And perhaps this had been for the best, Benjamin had thought, for it was best that she remained oblivious of such a fact –

That her parents were _dead_ – with the Underhills being the wealthiest family near the docks, they had been the ideal target of for the clockwork forces upon the Armada invasion.

Shot to death, the both of them – with the manor burned to the ground, their remains buried six feet under at the cemetery behind the church that was a short distance away from the workshop currently.

He had wondered _what _her reaction would be, if she were to find out – but for now, she seemed to remain oblivious, unknowing, and the musketeer decided that it would be best if it were to remain so, for _never _had he seen Sydney grieve – the concept of it _scared _him, truly – for she was _not _one to show vulnerability easily, and for her to do so meant that the damage done was of an _unspeakable _degree -

So he had maintained the silence, and they had worked – and she had left almost immediately afterwards with the small wooden box tucked away in the side pocket of her leather coat, without so much as a glance back at Benjamin.

And she had left him in silence, in wonder; she had left him _praying _that she did not take a _right _turn at the second corner down the street and happen to pass by the cemetery – only to discover that what remained of her childhood had been ripped away.

* * *

**Yup, and there we have it - as it turns out, Sydney's parents are no longer alive, but she doesn't exactly know that, and thus, she does not feel any sort of remorse for leaving them whatsoever.**

**However, it does make me wonder what _would _happen if she were to find out - which is something that might possibly be explored in some of the later chapters, so stay updated, and as always, be sure to review!**

** \- Severina**


	18. Chapter 18

**18: Tourist**

_Thwack!_

Prima's head was forcibly slapped aside under the force of Hunter Chamberlain's palm as it drove into the side of her face, directly over the still – healing spider – cracks in her porcelain skin, as if to further emphasize the damage that he had already inflicted on her.

"Isn't it _ironic?" _

His tone absolutely _dripped _with hate – towards the Armada, towards Presidos Decimus, towards the fates for delivering him and his lover such a cruel destiny.

And, truly, how could she _blame _him?

It was impossible to deny the destruction, death, and chaos that the clockwork Armada had wreaked upon Skull Island, the pirate haven – and although she acknowledged it, she did not feel a single _shred _of regret for it, for _never _would she allow herself to feel such weakness – especially when it came to the simple, straightforward matter of eliminating imperfection.

The male witchdoctor's hand then curled in her long, white hair, yanking it once to force her to look up at him – as he did stand two or three inches taller than she did.

"The _Commodore _Prima…the _oldest _clockwork to still remain in combat…!"

"Yes, what a _prize _I must be." Prima replied coldly, and in response, he only shoved her head back against the stone wall with as much force as he could then muster. Naturally, it had minimal impact on her – with his arm at such an angle as it was now, it would be nearly _impossible _for him to inflict any sort of damage.

"What a prize, indeed."

However, her words held an ironic truth to them – for she _was _a prize, in the eyes of the Resistance, and nothing more – a leading officer of the Armada, with the most powerful processor that could be found in a clockwork soldier – this excluded the elites themselves, of course.

Prima Militus had been in function for over sixty years, as of now – and her face, her image was known in practically every world of the Spiral – she had led countless conquests, attacks, and sieges, and her image was infamously iconic.

All over the Spiral, she knew, inhabitants of various worlds now reacted with instinctive fear upon catching sight of a woman's white hair, of alabaster skin and red lips – fear of these features, even if they were not collectively seen on a single individual.

They feared her image, they feared _her_, and she had haunted them, loomed over them for over half of a century.

And to think that she had been captured by a pirate whose experience in existence was a mere _fraction _of her own…

To think that she had _seen _the Armada from the moment of its creation to its rise to power – she had _seen _more than any other being in the Spiral – and yet, she had been brought down by one who was _naïve, _compared to her, one who had barely experience the conflicts and turmoil and peril that existed within this universe.

He had locked her in chains, for now – but the Commodore Prima Militus was _certain _that it would not be forever.

She had outlasted a million cities, hundreds of kingdoms – she would outlast _this._

* * *

**Personally, I've always thought the relationship between Prima and Hunter was interesting - mainly because she did not see him as a threat, and rather, as a misguided man who is going through great pain and turmoil. **

**She didn't exactly _sympathize _with him, given that he was a leader of the Resistance - but she did _understand_ what was happening to him, and she saw this realization as more of an observed fact than anything else.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	19. Chapter 19

**19: Eternal**

As soon as Servus had stepped out into the frigid, everlasting Polarian blizzard, he had been immediately tempted to turn around, to retreat back into the cave and sit quietly, silently, unmoving, next to the location at which he had buried the Armada Commodore.

All the uncertainties had risen the second that he had left – he no longer had any sense of location, he no longer had any memory of the path that they had taken, for it had been _Prima _dragging him through the snow – and even if he did, he would not be able to return to the dock on which they had arrived, for they had likely increased security after the Commodore had slaughtered the entire crew of the cargo ship single – handedly.

There would be a patrol around this area, she had said, and it had been the Armada Captain's intentions to go and seek out that patrol for himself – for he _refused _to sit in that cave, no matter how much his system and his basic concern for his own function demanded it – he was determined to, just like Prima had done to get them off of the cargo ship – take his fate into his own hands.

Servus would _find _the patrol – he would not _wait _for it to come to him.

Pressing forwards, Servus drew the collar of both the Commodore's coat and his own up higher around his neck in order to better protect the exposed flesh of his throat – if the frigid winds were to find even a _single _crack within his frame (which was likely, given the extreme temperatures of his current environment), his processor would be at immediate risk.

And, of course, there was the fear.

It had been ever present from the moment that he had entered the frozen wastelands alongside the Commodore, but it had been awakened – now more than ever.

What would _become _of him, if he were to freeze over, like the Commodore had?

As much as he strived to act like her, to make decisions at the speed that she did, and to predict the enemy's actions as well – her demise was one element that he _did not _want to mimic.

He wondered what she had _felt _as she had turned to ice, as her gear systems had slowly stopped turning, one by one – as she had lost use of her fingers, her hands, her arms, and, eventually, her _processor. _

Although it was an unreasonable fear, a wildly formed fear, he wondered if she had still been able to hear him, to see him as he shook her body in desperation, trying to elicit a response from her unmoving form, and simply not been _able _to respond.

What a terrible fate it must be, he thought, and it was _horrifying _to even _think _that there might be a possibility that he could have brought it upon her –

To doom one to an eternal wait.

Forever frozen, buried under six feet of snow due to the lack of earth, unable to call out and unable to save oneself –

To lie in _eternal termination._

* * *

**Just a little exploration of a rather scary subject (as well as one of my worst fears) - being buried alive.**

**Ugh - it's not really a pleasant fate, is it?**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and do leave a review, please!**

** \- Severina**


	20. Chapter 20

**20: Vanishing**

At first, Hunter had not noticed the changes, for they were so _little, _so _small _and gradual – the first two or three times seemed to be insignificant, and a _welcome _relief from the state of despair that Dangler had been in prior to that.

She had been _clawing _over the furniture, the walls, her own hair, her own _flesh _as if she was a rabid feline animal of sorts, and her nails quickly became broken and bloodstained as she absolutely _demolished _them.

_Where is he?_

_I NEED to see him – _

_Where IS HE?!_

Over and over and OVER –

Like a zombie, Dangler had stumbled about the manor, up and down the many staircases and through the numerous rooms, leaving bloody handprints and scratch marks, tears in the fabric and in the curtains, all as she repeated those _same words. _

It terrified Hunter, it pained him, and it _tortured _him – for she had been this way ever since _he _had escaped, ever since the day that the Armada warship had suddenly seemed to _appear _alongside the island, unleashing a hundred musketeers and marines that had all been sent with _his _manor as a target.

Naturally, he had taken Dangler and fled to a safe distance, combatting the flames that threatened to consume the entire manor as best he could from where he was standing, and he had succeeded – but in the process, the marksman that that they had been holding captive within the dungeons of the cellar –

_Presidos Decimus – _

He had _escaped. _

When they had returned, after inspecting the minimal damage done to the manor itself, the two witchdoctors had descended to the cellar again, only to find that in the place of where the marksman's cell had been, there was a gaping hole – obviously having been blasted open by an explosive device.

And he was _gone. _

And Dangler had _shattered. _

She had gone into a wild frenzy of grief and despair such as Hunter had never seen come from a woman, a human, or any other creature, for that matter – and it had felt to him as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart and _ripped _out of the other side of his torso, it pained him so.

And he had reminded her, unable to bear the sight of her in such a horrid state, that she possessed a bond of sorts that connected her with the marksman, and with a simple incantation, she could _see _him again, right before her very eyes, thanks to the cursed brand that she had carved into the marksman's very throat.

As expected, she proceeded to perform the incantation without a second's worth of hesitation – and Hunter was _overjoyed, _at first, for she was in such a state of _bliss, _of happiness, and it seemed that the terrible storm within her mind had lifted.

However, as time passed, it became obvious that this was not so.

She buried herself within her own illusions _multiple _times, _many _times each day – often going for many _hours _without a single moment of lucidity.

In time, Hunter had noticed the changes.

He had noticed the dark circles that were beginning to form under her usually – radiant eyes, and he noticed how her dress seemed to cling a little more loosely to her strangely – less voluptuous figure, how the curves and contours of her body and figure seemed to be a little _less _dramatic.

And with a silent, sinking fear, Hunter realized that it was not _just _her grief that had vanished forever.

* * *

**I thought it would be kind of interesting to explore how Dangler had been in the very early stages of her insanity - as in when she had first lost Decimus, and how Hunter actually reminded her of the fact that she was capable of seeing him when she desired - which, of course, would eventually cause her demise.**

**You can imagine how he feels now that CM is over - now that he is officially the true cause of death for the one that he loved.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and as always, please leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	21. Chapter 21

**21: Creative Visualization**

Jewel exhaled softly, in a controlled fashion, letting the air leave her lungs bit by bit, in an ever – constant amount as she carefully inched towards the corner that she and her two crewmates were hiding behind, taking care not to make a _single _additional sound.

_This was the WORST idea. _

She was going to _kill _Sydney, she swore, if they made it out of this alive.

After all, it had been the privateer's idea, in the first place, to barge in here without adequate preparation – and although Jewel had objected, saying that they were not trained _enough, _not supplied _enough, _not ready _enough, _Sydney had still gone through with the overly – ambitious task, determined to prove to the Resistance how much she was _truly _capable of.

And now that she, Sydney, and Samantha were within the tunnels of the Ancient Ruins themselves, Jewel had concluded that _nothing _could have been more _wrong. _

It was the third day since they had last seen daylight, and the crew of the _Grand Fife _had grown tired and desperate – the fact that they were hopelessly outnumbered by the sheer amount of clockworks that had been placed within the tunnels did _not _aid their situation in any way.

Forget the mission, Sydney had eventually, but dejectedly said – as now, they needed to focus on _escaping this place alive. _

However, this had been easier said than done – they had decided upon this right when they were within the very center of the labyrinth, _right _where the pathways and twists and turns were the most complex and confusing.

Not to mention that every inch of the place had seemed to be _crawling _with clockworks – none of which would have the slightest ounce of mercy upon the three women, if they were to be discovered.

_Just look around the corner, _Sydney had said, _it's quick and simple, and we'll be able to tell if this way is safe or not!_

Again, easier said than done – now that she was pressed up against the wall without sound, without a trace of existence, Jewel had _never _been more terrified in her _entire life. _

Much to her dismay, she quickly found that upon the realization of her own terror, thoughts of _surrender _began to leak in as well, and she tried her _very best _to beat them out, yet, they seemed strangely evasive.

_Turn away. _

_It's a bad idea – _

_Don't DO it!_

Jewel gave a pleading glance to Sydney and Samantha, but was only met with silent motions of encouragement for her to _continue. _

_And so there is no choice. _

Shaking her head as if this would clear these _intrusive, obscuring _thoughts, the small – framed swashbuckler steeled herself, curling her fists in an attempt to build up _every _ounce of courage within her tiny body. It really was _ridiculous, _she thought, the terror that had overcome her over such a small action – yet, this did not serve to diminish its effect on her in any way.

_You are silent – _

_You are nonexistent – _

_You're an expert at this, Jewel – you've GOT this – they're counting on you, and you're not going to let them down, are you?_

And quickly sticking her head around the corner in one quick move, Jewel scanned the area before pulling back briefly, her face having turned as white as that of a ghost, or some other phantasmal spectre as she silently but visibly gulped air, the insane amount of courage and _risk _that it had caused her having mentally exhausted her.

"We…we're clear. Let's go."

* * *

**Yeah, this theme was somewhat difficult to work with, mainly because people don't see it a whole lot/people don't know the definition, so I had to make it explicitly clear in the actual writing what the definition is - apparently it's like those mental words of encouragement that athletes tell themselves before races or something of that type.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	22. Chapter 22

**22: New Growth**

_Commodore Prima Militus, describe your experience._

That had been perhaps the _most _horrifying command that had _ever _been given to the Armada Commodore – and it had been directly from the Supreme Commander Kane, no less.

And so she had been _forced _to comply, she had been _forced _to recall every detail of her imprisonment within the stronghold of the Polarian warriors – even as the wounds still remained open and bleeding and untreated on her back, the _information _came first – it was of the utmost priority.

She had told the Supreme Commander _everything – _every _one _of their smirks, every lash of their whip, every drunken cackle that had come from their throats as they tore the flesh of her thin, fragile – built frame apart, and in a way, she _relived _this terrifying experience.

It had almost taken _control _of her processor, had she not shoved it to the very back of her memories at that point, her voice only going on autopilot as she continued her storytelling.

And Kane had seemed _pleased – _not with the words that she uttered, not with the horrific experiences that she had endured at the hands of the brutal warriors – but at her reaction, at her _resilience. _

This is what she had been _built _for, he had explained, this storage of information, this vast amount of analysis in even the most brutal and function – threatening situations.

They had taught her the emotion of _fear – _and although her processor had been built sturdily enough to hold against its onslaught on her logical calculations, it was almost as if they had _aided _her in their torment of her body – for she now _understood. _

_Fear _was what gripped mortal beings as they stood in the face of injury, of pain, of _death – _

_Fear _was what tore the gruesome, grating screams from their throats as they were _punished _for their Resistance.

And, most importantly, _fear _was what induced the mass state of chaos known as _panic, _in which all systems and traces of order would cease to exist as each and every individual being would take their own frantic and desperate course of action, running each and every way with no rhyme or reason to do so, no _matter _how ineffective this obviously was.

This could be of _utmost _advantage to the Armada, this knowledge – for they had a _way _of manipulating these facts, these findings, so that the humans would walk _right _into their traps.

_If one induced fear upon the Resistance – _

They would be compliant.

Not necessarily _immediately _compliant, but it would happen with _persistence _and with _time. _

_This is what you are built for. _

Prima was a walking library, an archive on two thin legs, and she remembered _everything – _every foolish action made by the enemy, and the _reason _for it, the _emotion _behind it, whether it was rage or sorrow or arrogance – Prima knew it all, Prima had _seen _it all, Prima _understood _it all.

She had been built with a fragile frame, that was true – but _this _was her strength, and it would only ever _grow_.

* * *

**Prima's backstory is one of the most interesting backstories to write - besides maybe Dangler's, but that's all a matter of perspective.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and make sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	23. Chapter 23

**23: Flash Flood**

"Sir! Hide – hide _quickly, _they're coming - !"

Caught off guard, Alexander Underhill quickly stumbled out from his study, his glasses askew on his face as he rushed to see just _what _the maid was _babbling _on about at so late of an hour as she _sprinted _past the doorway of the study in a most _undignified_ manner –

"_Armada – ARMADA!" _

The screams of the footmen who were near the front entrance could now be heard _ringing _through the halls, through the Underhill household, only to be forever silenced by two gunshots, one right after the other.

"It _can't _be…"

The rhythmic, metallic sounds of marching then became clear as more and _more _clockworks seemed to _pour _through the front doors of the manor – and it was apparent that it _was, _it _was _indeed so, and the Marleybonian nobleman quickly grabbed the flintlock pistol from where it lay within the topmost drawer of his desk before bolting out of the study and down the hallway, heading for the staircase –

For his wife, Elizabeth, was upstairs – and, God forbid, if the _clockworks _were to reach her before he would –

_She would be done for. _

No longer concerned with keeping _quiet _or remaining _undetected, _Alexander barely managed to keep upright, to refrain from stumbling as he sprinted up the East Wing staircase, down past multiple doors and _finally, _into the bedroom that he and his wife shared –

Only to be greeted by five clockwork musketeers, the centermost soldier holding his wife, who had been plagued with an onslaught of horrid sicknesses in the recent months, at _gunpoint. _

_But…how?!_

_The West Wing staircase - !_

"You _fiends - !" _

"Surrender, Alexander Underhill. Any further resistance will be futile."

As if to further prove their point, the centermost musketeer _dug _the barrel of his rifle ever harder into Elizabeth's scalp, causing a weak whimper to escape her shaking form, and she locked eyes with him once, _pleadingly. _

Reluctantly, Alexander lowered his gun.

"Take him."

The left and rightmost clockworks then marched forwards, grabbing hold of his arms with a vice – like grip, and he _dared _not resist – lest they pull the trigger.

He and Elizabeth were then forced forwards as the soldiers dragged them, now their prisoners, through the hallways of their own manor – and in doing so, they passed by the bleeding, lifeless body of the maid who had warned them earlier, of the cook, who had reacted a second too late, and of the footman at the front door.

To think that they had been alive only minutes ago -

_What will happen to us?!_

Pushing open the front door of the manor, the clockwork soldiers that had marched them out now threw Alexander and Elizabeth to the ground, their bodies making audible impact upon the cobblestones before they rose to their feet – Alexander first, with his wife clinging to his arm.

Already, the three musketeers in the center had the scopes of their rifles trained _perfectly _on their heads – and they knew what was to happen to them –

_I will die with honor._

_BANG!_

"Place their corpses within the manor – and load the fire charges."

The commanding officer's order was quickly executed, and the remaining clockworks within the building now exited it, taking their place in a massive company front alongside the other soldiers of their squadron, the musketeers, with their rifles loaded with the ever – destructive fire charges, pointing their rifle barrels directly at the massive Underhill manor.

The corpses of the master and mistress of the house were still visible in the threshold of the front door.

"_Fire!_"

The triggers were pulled, and the Underhill manor went up in flames.

* * *

**Yup, this is what actually happened to Sydney's parents - even though Sydney herself thinks that they're still alive all throughout CM.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	24. Chapter 24

**24: Stars**

Having never left Skull Island before, let alone _sailed, _Samantha had _never _beforebeen through the dangerous and yet enchanting expanses of space – time that one would need to pass through in order to cross between worlds via ship.

This, Sydney supposed, was probably the reason for the buccaneer's current state – she was all but _leaning _over the railing of the _Grand Fife, _her mouth hanging open and agape in wonder at the fact that they were drifting so _freely _in open space, with only a few combined threads of gravity from the worlds on either side of them preventing them from quite literally drifting off into the endless expanses.

Many strange beings lurked here as well – and there were rumors that ghosts also roamed the empty stretches – but the danger of it all was one of Sydney's favorite things about the "bridges" between the stormgates.

From where she was currently standing (which was upon the helm of her ship), Sydney could not tell if Samantha's expression was one of amazement or one of _fear – _for she had also met many sailors who _dreaded _these voyages for the very same risks.

"They're…so _close!_"

Samantha let out an exhilarated laugh, stretching her arm out over the side of the ship, much like an excited child would have.

Then again, she _did _have the heart of a child.

"They?"

"Yeah - ! The stars…they look so blurry from the island, but _here…_I can _see _them!"

Sydney knew she was speaking of the worlds – of Polaris and of Valencia and Monquista, which _did _look like mere balls of gas, or colorless blobs if one observed by eye while standing on the island.

However, now that they were within the stormgate itself, not bound to any one world, it was indeed possible to see the individual geographical features of the worlds themselves – most remarkably, the _massive _Armada fortress located in the center of Valencia, and the colossal glacial structure that was the majority of Polaris.

Sydney wondered if Samantha had even _heard _of these worlds – for unlike herself, the buccaneer did not receive constant formal training in her skills – she had instead worked countless hours at the dock, using nothing but the force of her own muscles to haul in ships hundreds of times her size.

"Sam, don't lean out _that _far - !" Sydney warned, for they were now approaching the stormgate to Monquista, and although Sydney herself had never sustained any damage to her ship during such passages, the shift in gravitational force could cause one to lose their balance quite easily.

The blue – eyed woman withdrew her hand with an almost _sheepish _smile as she took several slow steps back, so that her back nearly brushed against the main mast in the center of the deck.

Already, Sydney could feel the slight pull of the gravity – they were drawing nearer and nearer to Monquista, and she braced herself as they passed through the stormgate, yet guiding the ship steadily through as Samantha stared, wide-eyed, at the mass of swirling winds that surrounded them.

"You know something, Sydney…?" Samantha looked to Sydney, who merely raised her dark eyebrows in inquiry.

"I never really understood what those Captains at the docks meant when they said that their ships were a _part _of them…but now I think I do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Ships are like wings – if I had something that could take me all the way out _here, _I'd treasure it too."

* * *

**Just a bit of Sam happiness, because she was such a sweet character before she died :(**

**Anyways, I hope that you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	25. Chapter 25

**25: Where No Man Has Gone Before**

"Quintus – what is the status of our numbers?"

Sydney did not even turn towards the musketeer when she spoke – instead, she remained facing forward, her facial features void of expression as Quintus replied from his position to the right of her massive stone throne.

"They have increased by a third within the day, Commander."

The gaunt woman seemed pleased by this, and she relaxed her rigid posture slightly, crossing one leg over the other.

"Good, good…it will be _spectacular _when they find us, won't it?"

And Quintus prepared to respond to this adjective, for it –

_When they find us?!_

"Commander…what do you mean by this? You have said before that you did not intend for your forces to be discovered."

"Oh, _of course, _not _yet!" _Sydney exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air once out of exaggerated exasperation. "We are not quite _big _enough to make the impact that I want…"

"Forgive me, Commander…you _do _wish to be discovered?"

Sydney's eyebrows creased in thought, and she _looked _as if she was about to respond, but then did not. Instead, she stared off into the expanse of the chamber before her, and she pondered.

"I wish to be _known_."

_This _did make sense to Quintus – for she spoke of it often, being _known, _being _revered _as a god or as a supreme being of sorts –

In her exact words, she wished to be "in the history books."

_They will KNOW my name – _

_They will KNOW my face - !_

And she would be forever referred to as the great conqueror, _the _Supreme Commander – she had obsessed over these words _so _often ever since she had arrived in what was now her throne chamber.

A clockwork leader of a clockwork army was _one _thing, but a _human _leader was another – and she had _sworn _that she, unlike all other humans, would prove herself worthy to lead such perfect beings by obtaining perfection herself.

This was an _impossible _goal, of course, and Quintus was well aware – yet, he was completely powerless to persuade her otherwise.

She wished to be recognized, to be known as the _first _to accomplish such a feat – and he would not argue, what she _had _accomplished was truly magnificent. If they were to be discovered, if she were to be found among her numbers and her forces, her name and image would forever go down in history.

It was what she always wanted – it was what she _truly _wanted.

Perhaps she had more than one motive, he thought – perhaps she had not shifted the allegiances of the clockwork soldiers _solely _because of her affection for them, and instead because of this mad _craze _for power.

Some part of him had known this all along, but recent events had nearly convinced him otherwise.

His Commander had lapsed into silence then, and Quintus did not want to speak again – he did not want to disturb this temporary, yet tranquil period of time in which she _would _not question herself, in which she _would _not internally tear him apart, although she certainly was not doing so intentionally.

Yes, if she were ever to be discovered by another, Sydney Underhill would be forever known as _she who had conquered the clockworks – _and she would carry this stigma with the _utmost _pride.

* * *

**Yeah, this takes place during that short period of time that Sydney was kind of able to bask in her own glory before she killed Jewel and became overrun with guilt - I didn't do much with her during this time in the actual story, so I though I might now.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and as always, be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	26. Chapter 26

**26: Innocent**

Prima did feel terrible, at times, for Servus – for how his chances had played out, as compared to hers.

Out of the two witchdoctors, Hunter Chamberlain and Dangler, it was safe to conclude that being subjected to the black – haired female was _far _worse than "belonging" to Chamberlain himself – for he still had most of his sanity and honor about him.

Although it was obvious to tell that he _hated _the Armada, that he _despised _and _abhorred _the clockworks, he was not like Dangler, his mad partner – he was not a _sadist. _

_She, _who happened to be Servus' captor, _was. _

His blood, his pain – it was all her _pleasure. _

There was no other explanation for it, really – for the excitement in her voice and the shivers and tremors of _euphoria _that ran through her body, for her joyful laughs and shrieks that were akin to that of a banshee.

Dangler was the very _embodiment, _the very _deliverer _of the human emotion known as fear – something that Servus was entirely unfamiliar to.

Prima could only imagine what was racing through his processor.

The chances becoming shattered, the ever – reliable calculations becoming obsolete for the _first _time in the presence of the _uncertainty_, and in the presence of the _danger _that lurked around the corner for every _second _of his existence.

When was she to return, what was she to do next, with what weapon would she break open his skin with next - ?

Prima had felt and experienced all of this, and then more – and _if only, _she thought, if only Dangler had chosen to torment _her _instead, so that the Captain, who did not even have half of her years in function, would be spared.

Servus Albus – the musketeer officer was practically a _virgin _to pain, to fear such as this, he was blissfully _unaware_ of it all – that was, until now.

Now, his unseen innocence had been _stripped _from him, torn away by the wicked hooks on Dangler's nine – tailed whip, by her grating and terrifying screams.

_Just like Decimus – _

Even though it had been more than five years ago, Prima could still remember that day as if it had occurred the day prior – she could _remember _how he had trembled, how his voice had been shaken so that he could not utter a single coherent sentence.

She had offered her hand to him and he had grasped her entire arm, clinging to her with desperation, as if he was caught in a tempest and she was his anchor.

It was an accurate analogy – except for the fact that the tempest was unseen.

Would the same happen to him, she would wonder – if they were ever to make it out of this ordeal _alive? _

Like Decimus, he would be reduced to the mental state of a frightened child – and she would bear the weight of them both, she would once again offer her arm as a branch, as an anchor for him to grab to as his meticulously – designed programming cascaded down, as his innocence shattered into mere fragments.

It was a terrible fate, for she had seen it once – and Prima could only hope that she would not have to see it again.

* * *

**I've always made the analogy that Prima is like a mother to the rest of the clockworks, especially given that she is several decades older than they are and has a far more complete understanding of basically everything - and to a mother, the most painful torture is to see your child suffer while you are absolutely, completely powerless - which is exactly the situation that she is in right now.**

**Just thought it'd be interesting to explore.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and as always, be sure to leave a review!**


	27. Chapter 27

**27: Over the Moon**

_Nothing _could stop her now –

_Nothing _remained in her way –

For she was _invincible. _

With her dreams _conquered, _Sydney Underhill rose to her feet and leapt atop her stone throne, a rush of adrenaline shooting through her bloodstream at the sudden increase in elevation, as well as in vertigo.

It was all _exhilarating, _this new reality, this _self – made _reality.

Reminding herself of this only solidified it further – reminding herself that she had _built _her own _empire, _from ground up – and that it had all started with _one _defeated Armada musketeer, who now stood on her right hand side, with those lovely, blue glass eyes.

There was a high chance, she knew, that neither of them would ever emerge from these ruins, or even from this chamber – for they had no _reason _to. After all, she _knew _what lay beyond – an unwelcoming world that she had abandoned long ago, just like her unwelcoming crew.

And now, everything that had _ever _seemed unreachable was now within her grasp –

_Look at my empire – _

_MY Armada! _

The Supreme Commander had been toppled in Valencia – Sydney had seen to it herself, with the usage of Samantha's crushing strength.

Leaping down from the throne, Sydney skittered dangerously close to the edge, leaning precariously over before Quintus darted forwards, grabbing hold of her forearm.

"Commander, I _implore _you – "

But Sydney merely offered him a wide smile, shaking his grip off of her.

"Do not be _afraid, _Quintus – I am not _hurt, _see…?"

"You were seconds away from – "

"But I _didn't._"

This was true, and he could speak no longer with an opposing point.

_Nothing _was impossible – she defied death itself, she _laughed _in its face – the emperor Sydney would _never _be defeated, she was determined, she was certain.

The moons themselves belonged to her, as did the stormgates and the skyways and all she could possibly set eyes on in a single lifetime.

And to think, _to think _that she had once been confined within the solid roof and walls of the Underhill manor, her very body constricted by her own "nightgown" as she longingly gazed up and out of her bedroom window, curlers pinned tightly to her scalp and slippers pinching her feet.

_Everything _had been a limit to her then – but not _now. _

_If only they could see me now, _she often said, and Quintus was always at a loss as to _who _she was referring to – her crewmates, her parents, her trainers?

If only they could see me hold the spiral in my hands, if only they could see my name become _ingrained _in the history books that I was so forced to study –

She had never said those words and phrases exactly, but it was not difficult to imagine her doing so.

It was true indeed, that she had the stars within her grasp – but as any being with a decent knowledge of astronomy knew, stars did not live forever – after a certain amount of time, they would _die – _they would explode in a _fantastic _supernova, powerful enough to wipe out all within an _unimaginable _distance of them.

And if she continued to hold them this closely, this dearly as she did now – she would be lost along with them.

* * *

**Some more Sydney angst, just because she has so much of it XD**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!  
**

** \- Severina**


	28. Chapter 28

**28: Thin Ice**

When the Valencian patrol had come to collect Decimus from his position in Marleybone, he had, at first, felt relieved.

They were to help him, he thought – they would take him to the Supreme Commander Kane, and he would _find _Dangler – he would find her, and he would stop her, and she would _never _haunt him again, she would never again reduce him to such a pitiful state, and he would forever be able to perform his duty as a soldier without hindrance.

But it was not to be so – as he found out upon his arrival in Valencia, the Supreme Commander, without the presence of the Commodore Prima to convince him, had acted in an almost _hostile _manner towards him – treating him as if he was an _enemy _rather than one of their own.

He had grabbed him by the collar, he had pressed his fingers into the brand, which had been red and risen from the marksman's own clawing – without any sort of regard for the true _terror _that this had brought upon Decimus.

Prima would have treated him differently, _she _would have understood – just like she had six years and three months ago, when she had retrieved him from the physical captivity of the madwoman.

But she was gone now – she had disappeared from Valencia, leaving no trace behind.

And now, the Supreme Commander thought only as he had been made to do – without compassion, without emotion, with only logic as his deciding factor.

Decimus had been placed in a confinement cell of sorts – he was restrained within a small glass cell, the walls transparent so that his reactions and behaviors could be observed – he had become nothing more than an _experiment, _a source of data.

He feared what was to happen if she were to seek him out _again _(although she would not do so easily) – it nearly drove him into _hysterics _to imagine Bishop, Kane's own mad inventor, taking over his _observation_ – for Bishop was never one to be merciful to his subjects.

To think that he had escaped from _Dangler, _the most feared and dangerous witchdoctor of Skull Island, only to be subjected to the same torment at the hands of his superiors…

This thought alone drove him to strain against the chains holding him in place once more, although it would be, he knew, to no avail.

_Will I become like her, then? _

Would his mind crack, he wondered, and cause him to fall into the abyss that the mortal beings called _madness?_

Sanity was delicate, he knew, as this had easily been proven by how fast Dangler's own had shattered – and given his current state, it would be all too easy to demolish his.

Bishop was curious, he was intuitive – would he take _pleasure, _like Dangler had, in _breaking _him? It would be called an observation rather than _torture _at the hands of this clockwork elite, but the pain that it would bring, the fear that would accompany it would be all the same – it would lead him to _shatter, _to fall _endlessly and forever._

* * *

**Yeah, Decimus really has no allies in CM - Dangler "loves" him in all the wrong ways, Prima's not exactly there anymore, and his own Commander is using him for experimental purposes.**

**Not exactly a pleasant situation to be in. **

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	29. Chapter 29

**29: Smoke**

_Madame Vadima, the island is in danger!_

_They've attacked – _

_We need your help!_

The disheveled crowd of pirates had _swarmed _her sanctum all at once, pushing past each other and raising their voices over one another in order to be heard, to make their points as loudly and as clearly as they possibly could.

Even though she was arguably the most powerful witchdoctor of the Resistance, Vadima was not _psychic – _she could not simply look within the minds of the crowd before her and piece together the fragments of speech into a coherent phrase that made some sort of sense.

"Who's attacked – who's placed the island in danger?!"

_Surely not the Armada – _she had thought – _they would not dare. _

And yet, despite her denial, this _was, _in fact, what had occurred – and from the first pirate that had spoken, she discovered that the advancing forces were led by a _female _clockwork, and that they were burning the structures of the island down by the second – killing any and all who stood in their way.

_Prima Militus in the lead. _

The Commodore was practically a legend – she had been mentioned in every naval tactic and combat textbook that was used by the Resistance for as long as she could remember – as she was older than most of the trainers themselves.

_Sixty eight years _it was, since the rise of the Armada, since her creation.

The witchdoctor trainer had not bothered to listen to any other descriptions or testimonies of the occurring events – she _raced _outside, staff in hand, only to see that the entire island had been engulfed in a brilliant mass of flickering orange flames, heavy layers of smoke rising into the air and obscuring the sky, causing the brightness of the distant worlds and stars to turn dull.

_Take aim – _

_Fire!  
_

Although the voice was female, there was no mistaking the monotone of the clockwork soldiers of the Armada – this _one _soldier in particular, for she knew far more battle tactics and strategies than any one mortal Commander could ever hope to witness in his lifetime.

Vadmia wasted no time in leaping into the fray – the mass of pirates that charged at the phalanx of clockwork soldiers, hurling spheres of energy and axes and blades in a desperate shout to _defend their island!_

This was _their _island – their _home, _their haven – and they would defend it to the death without question.

She brought one of the many multicolored scarves around her neck up to cover her mouth and nose – the enormous layer of smoke pouring from the desolated buildings filled her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe without hacking or coughing.

Once she had reached an appropriate distance between herself and the mass of clockworks, the witchdoctor trainer planted her feet to the ground, generating a gathering of pure _green _flame before turning it into a _blowtorch _of sorts and using her own breath to redirect it at three of the nearest soldiers, incinerating them almost instantly.

The islanders would _not _lose this one, she was sure – for the Armada could kill as many as they got their hands on, they could destroy every building on the land – and yet, Skull Island would always rise from the ashes, from the smoke, and they _would _live to fight another day.

* * *

**I've never actually described Prima from any other point of view other than that of the clockworks - and she's looked at as somewhat of a motherly figure amongst them. However, she's still plenty scary to her enemies, so I thought that it would be interesting to expand on that.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	30. Chapter 30

**30: Fog**

Wiping the sleep from her swollen and bloodshot eyes, Sydney Underhill emerged from her cabin, full aware of the fact that it was some _ungodly _hour in the morning, and it was likely that neither Jewel nor Samantha would be awake to keep her company.

And worse, there was _fog. _

It was _everywhere – _and it annoyed Sydney to no end, for fog made it particularly harder to navigate, particularly given that she was manning the ship alone at the moment.

The jagged rock structures present in the skyway of Avernus did not make it any easier, either – for now that her vision was obscured, the chances of veering off course and crashing upon one of them increased, they multiplied _tenfold. _

Truly, it was an utter _inconvenience. _

Her crew would _hate _her for this, Sydney knew – for they needed sleep as much as the next person did, and they were not exactly in the best mood when they had a lack of it, but there was no _way _that she would be able to twist the _Grand Fife _out of this by _herself. _

Of course, the back of her mind had reminded her then, she had Quintus – but he was neither strong nor dense in structure, and she almost feared that the fierce and biting winds of Avernus would sweep him away from her.

With a roll of her eyes that surely none would see, Sydney descended down below decks, walking along the narrow hallway until she came to the two adjacent doors that were the cabins of Jewel and Samantha, before raising her fists and knocking thunderously upon the doorframes numerous times.

This was followed by several loud crashes from both doors, as well as grumbles of protest – and it was almost _comical _when both doors were flung open at the _exact same time _to reveal a very frightened – looking Samantha and a rather disheveled Jewel.

"Wha…what is it…?"

"It's so damn _early!"_

"I swear, it'll only be for a few minutes – " Sydney quickly stammered – "But we're going to crash soon if we don't steer out of this fog."

She did not say anything more – instead, the privateer turned sharply and marched back up towards the deck, the sound of stumbling footsteps behind her notifying her that the two women were, in fact, following her lead.

_Good – _for some reason, she had expected them to put up much more of a childish sort of struggle, despite the fact that they were both fully grown.

"Okay – I need you both to furl the sail - I'm going to try and steer us out of this, but if the sails are out, we'll be pushed back into the rocks."

Much to her relief, Samantha and Jewel, who now seemed to be fully awake and attentive, heeded her orders immediately, scaling the rigging with _incredible _speed as Sydney dashed up to the helm, taking the wheel in her hands and using the entire weight of her body to spin it, the resistance against the ship decreasing noticeably as the two women on the mast worked to furl the main sail, bit by bit – as they could only go _so _fast, for they were only two people, after all, Sydney reminded herself.

Nevertheless, their combined efforts resulted in success – and with the ship finally out of danger, the swashbuckler and buccaneer returned below decks to resume their interrupted slumber.

Meanwhile, on deck, a smile ghosted over the pirate Captain's face – for although she knew that she often held unrealistic expectations for her crew that were impossible to be met, the both of them had always tried their hardest at whatever task they were given – and this was _more _than enough.

* * *

**Oh look, a time where Sydney ad the crew were actually somewhat happy and functional! Yup, that's pretty rare.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	31. Chapter 31

**31: Ocean**

_0317._

It was not a time of much activity, even within the fortress of Cadiz, the very heart of the clockwork Armada themselves – the clockworks, who did not tire, sleep, or stop.

Amidst the dimmed lighting of the hallways and the overbearing silence, the Armada Commodore Prima Militus silently traversed through the winding passageways, a lantern dangling from the thin fingers of her right hand.

She was _investigating, _as she had prepared herself to say if another soldier were to find her – and she was within the authoritative position to do so, as the highest ranked combat clockwork of the Armada.

One, two, three doors to the right – and she came to a pause at the fourth, stopping there in order to retrieve the ring of keys from one of the many pockets of her uniform coat before singling out the correct one and shoving it rather forcefully into the lock of the door.

She opened the door with a single twist of the key and a push of the handle, and was almost immediately enveloped with a cloud of dust – obviously, Deacon had not been to this room in _quite _a long time.

Within the small, narrow room were rows and rows of towering shelves, and upon each shelf, countless scrolls of parchment.

This was a storage room – an archive, of sorts – specifically, an archive of _maps. _

Every exploration into unknown space, every observation made via telescope was recorded and stored within this room, mostly thanks to Bishop – and Prima was truly _fascinated _by it.

She herself did not have much knowledge of the Spiral beyond the worlds that she had served in, or that she had led attacks into – Polaris, Monquista, Mooshu, Skull Island – her knowledge of _those _worlds was extensive.

However, the Spiral was not limited to a just a few worlds – it was an endlessly large, unimaginably sized expanse, containing all that could ever be thought of, all that could ever be _dreamed _of.

There were some worlds, she had discovered, that did not have _skyways _for ships to sail on – rather, they had massive bodies of water encompassing the land formations, with tides and currents and plunging depths.

What a sight it must have been to behold, Prima thought – to be rocked by the turbulence of a moving body of water as a ship cut through it steadily, with the winds causing all who were on deck to be sprayed by the mist.

_It must be quite exhilarating. _

Prima had spent the next several hours reading records and hypotheses of the worlds that contained such bodies of water, of worlds that _must _operate much differently than the beings near _this _area of the Spiral did – in fact, if she had not seen the dark blanket of the night being lifted up from the skies from the small window within the room, it was likely that she would have never stopped.

Rolling the scroll that she had been scanning through back up and placing it _oh – so – carefully _back onto its shelf, Prima backed out of the narrow room and secured it as firmly as she had found it before walking once more down the hallways without so much as a glance back – after all, she was not a being that _aged – _she would have _forever _to read such fascinating material.

One day, Prima decided, she wished to have such an experience – to sail on the _oceans _rather than the skyways.

* * *

**Yeah, this one made me think a little more - especially since there are no actual "oceans" in the known Spiral.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	32. Chapter 32

**32: Fire**

Earth, air, water, _fire – _the residents of Mooshu had often spoke of those as the four elements, which made up the universe and everything present within it.

Prima could certainly see why – they were the _basis _of any and all worlds within the known spiral. Earth being the land of the island, and the air that surrounded it, and the water that flowed _on _it –

Yet, she did not understand why _fire _had been included in this quartet.

The other three – earth, air, and water – were elements of equilibrium, of little disturbance or destruction – they would only _promote _life, simply with their own existence.

Fire seemed to do the _opposite _of that.

It certainly did not occur as _naturally _as the other three did – fire was what exploded out of the barrels of the rifles of the clockwork musketeers as a means of causing _chaos _and wreaking _destruction, _it was the orange tongues that would catch and cling to anything that dared to step into its path –

Had it not been for the confirmed absence of biological life within the flames, Prima would have thought fire to be _living. _

It certainly _acted _like the mortal beings that she and her soldiers so often fought to control – fire _demanded _sustenance in the form of oxygen and space, and one could not simply contain it without sacrificing something else – whether that would be _themselves, _it all truly depended on the situation and the circumstances.

Regardless of this, fire certainly was a useful agent within the hands of the Armada – for it provided distraction, chaos, and fear, and, if used properly, would bring an efficient end to many battles.

One of which included _this _one, she knew.

"Formations."

Although the word was barely louder than a _whisper – _as they had been ordered to generate as little noise as was possible – the Commodore's voice somehow still managed to carry over and through the ranks that were lined up behind her, and at once, each and every soldier snapped into a position of attention, keeping perfectly still, silent, and attentive as the ship slowly pulled up to the land that was the back of the island.

There would not be many that would be _anticipating _such an attack, no – from the deserted rear of the island, in the _dead _of night – it was when the humans were most vulnerable, as it was common knowledge that they certainly were _not _nocturnal creatures.

The motion to move out came in the form of a single hand motion from the Commodore – and forwards the clockworks marched.

She led them on, silently, inconspicuously, as to not arouse an alert so early on in this mission – and then, when they had reached the point in which they were practically surrounded by buildings from all sides, Prima gave the motion to _halt. _

And they knew the procedure – she had briefed them on it shortly before their arrival on the island.

The few marines that were present with her forces moved to the outer edges of the phalanx, shielding the musketeers as they knelt to the ground, the destructive charges loaded into the guns –

A unison pull of the triggers, and countless fire charges were launched towards the building, only to explode in _spectacular _bursts of orange flame, which caught to the roofs and walls and doors of the numerous structures around them.

This had no doubt caused quite an instant panic – and within seconds, pirates in various states of disarray came pouring out of the doors of the burning buildings, some of them just _barely _escaping with her lives – and Prima now fell back within the phalanx itself, becoming one with her ranks.

They had a new goal now – to _slaughter _the pirates – for now, the structures of the island would _surely _be built by sunrise – the _fire _would _ensure _that.

* * *

**Yeah, there were so many element words in a row (smoke, ocean, etc.) that I _had _to make one of them about Prima's attack - it was pretty darn glorious, at the beginning.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	33. Chapter 33

**33: Darkness**

It did not _start _out as a particularly unusual session – she had come into the small, cramped cell in which he was kept, and she had re – opened the just – sealing wounds on his back.

This was indeed _painful, _Decimus could comprehend, but it was not _unusual – _she had done so countless times, after all, and he had come to _expect _it whenever he heard the door of the cell creak open from behind him.

However, after he had been temporarily incapacitated by her inflictions, she must have done something _different – _because when Decimus was finally able to regain his sense of balance, hours after she had _skipped _out of the dungeon, he found that he _could not see. _

This did not make sense to him – _at all. _

Even though the cell was _dark, _he was usually at least able to see the outlines and the crevices between the stones in front of him – and yet, now, all he saw was _black. _

And it was only _then _that he realized that she had _blindfolded _him.

This in itself was terrifying – he was completely alone, his hearing having been muffled by the deafening silence that seemed to fill the chamber, and his _sight _had now been taken from him – leaving him with nothing _but _the stinging and burning of his lash wounds to anchor him into the reality that, by now, he _desperately _wished to leave.

The humans called it _madness, _the state that _she _was in – when one lost their _grip _on reality – and it was often viewed as a _horrid _fate.

However, looking unto his reality now, Decimus concluded, a drop into this state known as "madness" would be quite welcomed by him.

And it was only then that he _felt _her – her long – nailed, cold – skinned hand on his bare shoulder.

"_Hello." _

And his frame went _rigid_ with fear – as if he had been thrown unclothed into the very centermost point of the Polarian wastelands, were ice and frost would overcome his systems within an instant.

_She was back – _

Already, Decimus could _hear _the lashes of the whip that were _sure _to come – and he braced himself the very hardest that he possibly could.

And yet, she did _nothing more. _

On the contrary, her hand dropped – leaving him once again in only silence and darkness.

He could not see the change in the light, he did not know if the door to the cell had simply been left open so that she could wordlessly, _soundlessly _walk in and out as she so pleased – and she spoke not a single word more, giving him no _true _confirmation of her presence. This led him to a _question, _of course –

_Had she really been there?_

Or had it merely been a _memory _that his processor had drawn up – for he _quite vividly _could recall her voice – the exact pitch and tone of it – and the chilling temperature of the palms of her hands, from all those times that she had run them over every area of his body, over every wound that _she herself _had inflicted –

Could it really be, he questioned, the _unhinging _of his own memory, of his own processor?

_Madness, _he remembered – _when one loses their grip on reality. _

It was truly a terrifying concept.

* * *

**...poor Decimus, really, I feel like I've put him through far too much - but will I ever stop...? Of course not XD **

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	34. Chapter 34

**34: Night Light**

Jewel's first night aboard the _Grand Fife _had truly been the strangest.

Naturally, she could not sleep – she was not _allowed _to, as Samantha's flu symptoms had still not quite gone away yet, and her recovery was not necessarily one – hundred – percent _certain. _

However, the blue – eyed woman had seemed to gain more energy throughout the day – whether this was due to increasing health or simply from Samantha's extrovert – natured joy, Jewel did not know – but she did not _trust _it.

Nevertheless, judging by how the light of the sun had receded completely into the West, it was now time to report to the privateer on her crewmate's condition, and Jewel slowly stood up from the small wooden chair for the first time in _hours, _black spots dancing in front of her vision as the blood slowly flowed back into her lower legs.

Turning then, Jewel quietly slipped out of the sick buccaneer's small cabin, being careful to generate as _little _noise as possible while closing the door before walking directly forwards to the staircase that would lead to the main deck – where Sydney's cabin would be.

The chilling winds of the night skies had hit her almost instantly when she had first stepped out, and Jewel wrapped her thin arms about her torso in an attempt to keep herself warm, braving the cold for just a few more seconds before she reached the door to the Captain's cabin, knocking three times in succession.

"You can come in."

Sighing in relief, Jewel pushed open the door to the much more spacious cabin, shutting the door behind her as quickly as possible in order to prevent the gusts of wind from freezing them both.

She then cast a single glance around the cabin – and it was truly _nothing _like she had expected.

Upon first encounter, Sydney had seemed to be a blunt, yet _controlled _and _well – kept _individual – one who practically radiated efficiency and organization.

And yet, the state of her cabin reflected anything _but _that.

There was a box bed against the wall, but if Jewel had not taken the time to look closely, she would not have _recognized _it as such – for the sheer amount of paraphernalia that was piled upon it almost completely obscured the dark – colored blanket.

And it was not as if Sydney could have slept anywhere _else, _really – all around her cabin lay stacks of paper, collected weapons and garments that had likely never seen the light of day, maps and charts that had been scribbled out frantically, and the drafts that had succeeded them.

_Where does she sleep…?!_

"Right here, usually."

Jewel jumped at this – she had not realized that she had spoken _aloud. _

Sydney was seated at her massive wooden desk – which was, like almost everything else within the cabin, absolutely _covered _with paper – in the midst of drawing what seemed to be _another _course chart, her only source of light being a single candle that looked like it was down to its last hours.

"I usually try and draw out any maps needed the day before – but sooner or later, I end up passing out on top of them."

Jewel's brows furrowed.

"That's not exactly _healthy, _you – "

"Oh, I know – but it's not _effortless, _running a ship this big – and I figured that since I'm awake, I might as well put myself to use."

The green – eyed girl's lips pursed – as one who was educated in the health of biological beings, she could not quite bring herself to _approve _of what Sydney was doing.

"How's Sam?"

Sydney had quickly changed the topic – and Jewel, relieved, went along with it, glad to find an excuse to distract herself from expressing too _much _of her own disapproval unintentionally.

"Oh…Sam? She's getting better…yeah. She's getting better – but her symptoms aren't completely gone yet."

Sydney did not react much to this – she crossed her arms and gave a curt nod.

"Good – I'll see you tomorrow, then. Go and get some rest."

Jewel had left then – and although she did not say it, she hoped that the privateer would take her own advice as well.

* * *

**Yup, more partially - functional crew stuff, because it just makes their actual fate seem a whole lot sadder. **

**Anyways, announcement time - I've started a new original story titled "Serpentine," which I will be working on at the same time while I also finish this. It'll be up on my deviantart page, my fictionpress account and on my inkitt page. It's for a competition on inkitt, however, so if you do enjoy it (it'll be updated every Sunday as well), then make sure to hit the "like" button, as that's how contests on that site are won :) If you're wondering where any of my other pages are located, all the links are in my bio!**

**I hope you enjoyed this update, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	35. Chapter 35

**35: Compromise**

It was a rather _precarious _situation, indeed – but it had been all that Hunter had been able to cling onto before she had_ set _her mind in her own self – made concrete.

_And to think that she was prepared…_

She had been _prepared _to look – in fact, Dangler had _begged _Hunter to let her, for she _needed _to see him, she simply could not _bear _to _not know – _

And with a heavy heart, he had locked her up in the room that they had shared, her thin, bony wrists encased in enchanted manacles that would _certainly _inhibit her otherworldly powers –

But they were no longer there to restrain her, for Hunter had been forced to remove them in order for them to escape the clockworks that had been sent to search through the manor.

This brought him to the present – in which he sailed the small Marleybonian skiff through the darkened skyways, the emaciated woman within the Captain's cabin – she would not _sleep, _no, such a thing would _certainly _not happen with her – but it had been a miracle that she had even possessed the control to remain within the cabin.

As he sailed, Hunter could not help but feel a certain sense of _irony – _for they were now sailing to _Valencia, _the very homeland of the enemy that they had fought for decades – and after Decimus' escape six years ago, there was no _doubt _that their names were known, even though it was doubtful that they would recognize Dangler – she had not set foot outside of the manor ever since their capture of Decimus, and had therefore never been seen. If they had even _managed _to obtain a facial profiling out of the terrified marksman, it would be completely obsolete _as of now. _

_As of now. _

As of now, if Hunter listened closely, he could hear the scraping of her broken nails against the cabin door, he could _hear _her senseless, wordless ramblings as the split sides of her warped mind waged an endless war within her starved body.

This alone was enough to plunge the male witchdoctor into a pit of pessimism – into a train of thoughts which was brought to a conclusion, more or less, at _things – could – not – get – any – worse. _

Yet, this was completely false.

In fact, if Hunter was to think back upon the infinitely many possible reactions that Dangler could have had upon being freed from the manacles, things were _miraculous. _

_She had wanted to look. _

Even when she only possessed the power and physical energy to sustain her life through _one _more – and then she would be _gone, _just as she had threatened, in the name of seeing _her _Decimus _one last time. _

Now that he thought of it, Hunter could not quite make sense of _how _he had managed to convince her that _travelling to Valencia _would be an equivalent alternative – for there were _hundreds _of _thousands _of clockworks within Valencia, let alone in _the entire Armada – _it was not _certain _that he would be found easily, and it was not _certain _how patient she would be upon their arrival.

Their entire fate seemed to hang from a fraying string, as of now – and it was _difficult _to not simply _give up _hope, Hunter would admit – yet, this journey had been a miraculous _compromise – _and he would _not _let his _one last chance _slip out of his grasp.

* * *

**Sad Hunter is very pitiful and angsty - _all _the time. I can't help but feel bad for him as well at times, but then again, it is rather...enjoyable to cause him to break down like this.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this, and be sure to leave a review!  
**

** \- Severina**


	36. Chapter 36

**36: Fantasy**

The bookshelves in the library of the Underhill manor were absolutely _massive – _the room stretched upwards for two stories, requiring a staircase to ascend to the next level, and countless stepladders were located at every other corner.

It was one of Sydney's favorite places to get lost in.

The first time, of course, it had been frightening, and when she could not find her way out, the four – year – old child had screamed for help until one of the maids within the household at that time had come running to find her.

However, now that she was older – _eleven, _to be exact – getting lost in such a room was a _magnificent _adventure.

Of course, she could never _truly _get lost – she had been through these countless rows of books so many times that she practically knew the layout of this labyrinth by heart, as if the blueprint of it had been imprinted into the back of her eyelids so that the girl would merely have to blink in order to remember where she was.

As chaotic as such a place often seemed, the library was _extremely _well – organized – by subject, and then by author, and then by alphabet.

_It must have taken years to place everything so, _Sydney often thought, and she could practically picture an army of servants busily shuffling the leather-bound volumes up and down, back and forth, sorting them into _this _exact order.

She had often spent many hours upon the lower floor of the library with her tutor, sitting at the small table that was placed just behind the second shelf of the right section, with multiple books that _must _have been at least a _fifth _of her weight stacked upon the floors and the surface of the table itself, but those had been _history _books, _vocabulary _books, works of literature that she could not understand nor cared for, as there was little that seemed more than nonsensical rambling to her.

No – as much as she _yearned _to one day read her own name recorded in such factual books of history, _this _section was not what she preferred to hide in at all –

Rather, it was the shelf that was located on the _upper _floor, north segment, seven back – it was where the _fantasy _books were kept.

_Here _is where she would find what she wanted – tales of great wars, of bloodshed and imperial armies, of sorcerers that wielded supernatural abilities and deranged villains that would pursue futile causes for no reason aside from their own personal gain –

_None _of which could happen in _reality, _of course – it was what made these sorts of books all the more appealing.

Even though she was most always alone when she disappeared within these wonderful stories, Sydney could practically _hear _the voices of disapproval from both of her parents if she were ever to be discovered, berating her for filling her head with _silly little children's tales. _

But for now, she would remain hidden away during these few hours in which the occupants of the household were taken by other matters within her state of wonderful, ignorant bliss – she would continue to disappear into her numerous pages of fantasy lands.

* * *

**Sydney was a bit of a bookworm as a child - it was the only _interesting _pastime that she was allowed, really, as practicing the piano loses its fun when it's just another routine solely done to please one's parents (as a pianist, I would know XD).**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	37. Chapter 37

**37: Magic**

The instant that the witchdoctor trainer had entered the small room that had been given to the unnamed little girl, the child had practically _leapt _upon her – even though the top of her thick – haired head barely reached up to Vadima's hip.

"Show me!" She pleaded playfully, tugging on the purple shawl that was tied around the witchdoctor's waist, the numerous charms and trinkets sewn onto it generating a variety of light sounds as they collided together.

"Show you _what, _my dear?" Vadmia responded evenly, yet playfully, kneeling down in order to make eye contact with the girl – _the girl who played with the rats. _

"The _magic!_"

That explained it, Vadima thought – for she had _known _that there was someone _watching _her while she taught the young trainees of Skull Island during the day – but she had never suspected it to be _this _one.

Seeing no problem with appeasing the little girl's curiosity, Vadima opened her hand so that it laid palm up, fingers outstretched, before whispering a single unintelligible word, a sphere of green energy leaping to life within her hand.

The rat girl's grey eyes practically _lit up _with joy, although she made no sound, no movement – she did not attempt to reach out for the flame, or to grab it or hold it, as most small children that were her age would often tend to do – instead, she merely _stared, _seemingly entranced.

"I _can't._" The girl's strangely defined eyebrows furrowed, as if she was concentrating hard on _something _that the witchdoctor trainer could not quite place her finger on.

This confused her.

"You can't…_what, _dear?"

"It's not _green_ when I do it."

_Ah, so she speaks of the flames. _

Naturally, the girl must have tried to _imitate _the master witchdoctor, as many young children often did of their mentors or parent figures – and she had turned out _unsuccessful. _

But of _course, _Vadima thought, for no matter how much she would wish to place her powers into practice, she would _never _be able to until the day came in which she was old enough to receive proper training.

And, dismissing this, the master witchdoctor was just about to turn and leave the room when –

"See – _look!"_

The shrill voice of the girl called out once more, and Vadima looked down –

Only to see her tiny form surrounded by what seemed to be an entire _envelope _of energy – of _black _energy.

_What…?! _

She could not have been more than _five, _or _six _years old – there was simply no _way _that the girl could have mastered the channeling of energy simply by _watching _or _imitating, _rather than by receiving formal instruction and examples.

And then, of course, there was the fact that the energy that _was _generated from her form was _black. _

Hoodoo energy was _not _this color – every witchdoctor – no, scratch that – every _pirate _who had _ever _seen or heard of hoodoo knew that the energy and forces that were utilized with it gave off a _green _glow.

Vadima did not speak these thoughts out loud, of course – but it was only _then _that she had fully realized that the rat – girl was capable of an entirely _different _form of magic – and this _scared _her.

* * *

**Dangler's backstory is interesting in my opinion, because it isn't really "tragic" at all - and yet, she still ended up meeting an _extremely unfortunate _fate.**

**I hope you found this interesting, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	38. Chapter 38

**38: Masked**

Samantha had to do her best to control her breathing underneath the porcelain – like mask, for if she were to exhale too _much_, the condensation of her own breath would then build up on the underside of it, which, as she had learned earlier, was a most _uncomfortable _situation.

And they still had a long way to go before she would _ever _get the chance to remove her disguise – they weren't even _past the gates _yet, and this extensive process of bypassing the security at the outermost gates of the fortress was the _shortest _segment of Sydney's plan.

The buccaneer's palms were moist with nervousness as they advanced further towards the gates, and Samantha was grateful for the gloves that she had worn as a part of the disguise – for otherwise, the chains that they held Jewel by would have _surely _slipped by now.

Being cautious not to move a single muscle, Samantha snuck a glance at Sydney across the top of Jewel's black – haired head.

The privateer was, like her, masked and disguised as an Armada marine – yet, Samantha could not help but feel _inadequate _next to her.

_She plays the role, she wears the uniform, she'll convince them. _

_But what about me? _

Samantha was _worried – _she was worried that her nerves were not _quite _as steeled as she wished or thought they were, and she was worried that this would cause her to somehow act in a manner that simply was not _identical _to Sydney's unyielding demeanor.

_Unyielding, like the Armada marines themselves. _

She truly _carried _the role, much like a professional actor would – perhaps because it was so close to her true human personality.

Short, direct, efficient, and to the point, without much room for empathy, if there was any room at all.

This role truly _differed _from Samantha's usual enthusiasm – and therefore, it was _much _harder for her to fully convince _herself, _let alone the Armada marines that would be at the gate, that she was _identical _to them.

A slight twitch from Sydney's uniformed figure told her to stop _moving – _which she _must _have been doing _involuntarily – _as they _finally _drew up to the first gate.

Quintus would do all of the talking needed to confirm their "identity" as Armada clockworks, of course – but in the meantime, she _had _to uphold this unnatural façade – she _had _to remain still, as if she was _not _nervous at all.

Perhaps Sydney was nervous as well, she thought, and was merely hiding it instead of letting it come so close to betraying the lot of them.

_Identify yourself – _

_Musketeer Custos Quintus, of the tunnels squadron. _

Being an actual clockwork himself, it was not difficult at all for Quintus to respond with the same even, yet flowing monotone that all of the clockwork soldiers seemed to speak in.

_Identify your purpose. _

Here it was – the attention would now be directed to _them _as Quintus would explain how they had supposedly gotten here, how they had captured Jewel as a dangerous fugitive from the tunnels, how they were to bring her in for questioning – it was all a blended mix of jumbled words to the buccaneer, whose blood was _audibly _rushing through her veins – of course, only _she _could hear such a thing, but this did not stop the paranoia from gently nudging at the back of her brain.

And _then – _

_Access confirmed. _

The ship jolted as it glided forwards and past the gates, and it took every _ounce _of self-control for Samantha not to simply collapse in the sheer relief of it all –

_We did it. _

_There's no going back now._

* * *

**This is sort of a re - visit to Sydney's attack on Cadiz - but this time, from the perspective of one of her blindly led sheep, as Samantha, at this point, has not yet discovered her Captain's true hidden agenda.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	39. Chapter 39

**39: Hero**

A year ago, Servus Albus truly never would have thought that he would have ever ended up in _this _position – curled on his side with the Commodore's own form pressed against his back, her arms coiled over his shoulder, around his form, as if this would shield him from the icy temperatures.

And yet, here he was.

It really was quite ironic – he and his Cadre had been sent with the Commodore to ensure _her _survival, after all – and as he could clearly see from the makeshift tourniquets that she had tied over her wrists, it had ended up with _her _sacrificing her own proper function for _his _survival.

She would not let it happen otherwise – no matter how much he had insisted that she could conserve _herself, _that she should save her _own _energy – for she was the Armada's archive of each and every unexpected imperfection that the humans had within them – she had seen them all, she knew them all – and all without becoming _influenced. _

It was a foreign concept to him indeed – as he had been _introduced _to fear by his depraved tormentor, and now, all he _felt _was fear.

Yet, she _knew _of fear, and did not let it overtake her as he had.

How can one understand emotions without _feeling_ them – it had been the unspoken question within the processor of every soldier who had ever had a direct interaction with the Commodore herself, whether she was giving a mission briefing or directly leading a charge into battle.

And it had been the question within his processor as well, since the first day of his function, under her leadership and command.

"Commodore?"

She did not speak for several seconds, but her response did come in time –

"Do not…exert your energy…with speech."

Her speech was halted, it was suppressed and slowed – but it was still _there, _and that alone was enough to calm the fear that had threatened to rise within the musketeer Captain once again.

_Commodore._

It was the only word that he had spoken for the past several days – repeating it every several hours, only to ensure that she was, in fact, still _there. _

This was the least he could do, really, in return for what she had done for him – in return for the protection, the _reassurance_ that she had given him while they had hidden in the hold of the cargo ship, as they had drudged across the miles and miles of snow that was the Polarian wastelands, and now, as they lay prone and unmoving, simply _awaiting _their fate.

Any other clockwork would have feared for their function – they would have been driven into a maddening state of panic, much like Servus had been, and the both of them would have been terminated by the environment alone within days.

Her capabilities were beyond astounding, in this manner – and the fact that she had sacrificed the use of her own limbs in order to provide warmth humbled the Captain, it would have knocked him to his knees, had he been standing.

And he knew, whether they were to survive this maelstrom of uncertainty or if they were to perish in this cave, that he remained forever in her debt – she would forever be his _hero._

* * *

**Aww. More Prima sadness just BECAUSE :(**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	40. Chapter 40

**40: Off – Balance**

In a combination of rage, frustration, and fury at himself, Hunter Chamberlain slammed his fists into the wall of the bedroom, shaking the paintings that hung just a few feet away as he gritted his teeth, restraining himself from wordlessly _screaming _until his lungs collapsed.

_How could I have not seen this before?! _

She was down there _again, _he knew, just like she had been for the past _three days._

Ever since he had first carried the hidden marksman – _Decimus – _back to the manor, and ever since Dangler's eyes had practically _illuminated _with joy – he had felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of foreboding, an overwhelming sense of _dread. _

A million questions of the "what – if" particularity flew through his mind now –

_What if _he had simply _killed _Decimus, rather than retrieving him –

_What if _he had killed him _after _he had seen the spark of _desire _within her eyes –

In summary, _what if _he had not allowed this to escalate?

It truly was _all his fault, _Hunter concluded, and once again, he found the need to summon every last scrap of his own self control and restraint, else he were to draw attention to himself.

Dangler had been _hooked _in by her strange _fixation _with the marksman, _especially _when he was in a state of terrible, dreadful pain – his flesh torn open by her blades, by her whips, the way that he would practically _convulse _out of fear when she ran her long – nailed fingers over his bloodstained flesh, her silky voice singing with words of _affection. _

He should have known.

Even _before _Hunter had obtained Decimus on that one fateful day, there had always been something _off _about Dangler – there had always been something that was _not quite right. _

Ever since he had first begun to court her, Dangler had always been a very _vain _girl – when she had started to stay with Hunter, within the massive manor which had only held a single occupant until then, she had spent _hours _gazing into the mirror within their bedroom every day – admiring her facial features, her hair, the shape of her body, every aspect that one could possibly think of.

He would gift her with jewelry, with lavish dresses and cosmetic materials, and she would accept these all with pleasure – for she loved _everything _and _anything _that was beautiful.

Apparently, this metaphorical list of "items of beauty" contained Decimus as well.

Hunter should have known after he had seen the fixation in which she would stare at herself, in which she would speak to her own reflection in quiet murmurs that he could never discern.

Something had always been _off – _he had known it throughout these years, and it was only _now _that his silence had returned to spite him.

For it was not her _own _beauty that she was obsessed with any longer – it was the wonderful color of the blood of the marksman, splattered over his alabaster – white skin as she _ripped _it open, as she drew _desperate _cries from between his lips by _force. _

All throughout her life, Dangler had sought to claim items of beauty – and when she obtained them, he knew, she would become rather _reluctant _to relinquish her hold.

* * *

**Hunter is quite an angsty character - but that makes him all the more fun to write with ^^**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	41. Chapter 41

**41: Forget**

Prima walked swiftly behind the marksman, steering him, practically _pushing _him through the narrow hallway in the leftmost wing of the fortress, only stopping when they came to the third door on the right.

Keeping a hand upon his shoulder, the Commodore quickly retrieved the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door, twisting the handle and pushing it open wide enough for the both of them to enter before shutting the door once again, the atmosphere around them now completely silent – save for a faint humming.

And it was only then that Decimus was able to compose himself enough to look towards the center of the room – where a strange sarcophagus – like object sat, the circuitry within its inner working pulsing ever so softly.

He was not able to identify neither this strange machine nor its function – and, naturally, this drew the ultimate question –

_Why has she brought me here?_

"Do not fear it, Decimus."

The way that she had answered – it had almost been as if she had sensed what he had been thinking in that exact moment.

"This…machine…"

"This machine is not known to many of the clockworks in the fortress – therefore, it is only natural that you have never seen it."

_Yet, what is its functi – _

"Ah, yes…there is also the question of what it _does._"

And it was then that Decimus realized – Prima had _calculated _what he would have said, the questions that he would have asked, if he had not been shaking so hard that he had been rendered completely speechless.

This could quite possibly be interpreted as _disturbing – _but as of now, he was mostly glad for it, as he would not have been able to get what he wished to say across at _all _without her foresight.

"This machine will wipe your memory, Decimus – but _only _a select part of it."

She had placed emphasis on the last fragment of the sentence upon seeing Decimus' initial reaction – one of shock, and partially, of horror.

Naturally, she understood.

Erasing one's memory did seem extremely risk – ridden, and it truly was – however, as of now, it was _necessary. _

It was the only way that he would be allowed to remain in function – as this is what she and the Supreme Commander Kane himself had agreed upon – the termination of the memories that plagued him, or the termination of his function altogether.

Of course, Prima knew that this machine would not rid him of his memories _entirely_ – they would merely put them in a dormant state, and although it _was _possible for them to be reawakened, such a thing would only occur if he were to see the subject of his memories – if he was to see _that witchdoctor _again.

And so the solution was simple, although delicate – since they had waited until his hallucinations of her had come to a cease for a full three months without interruption, it was highly likely that they would not occur again – all that had to be done was to place him within a patrol far away from the pirate haven – in Mooshu, or perhaps in Marleybone, if the invasion proved successful.

_Yes, that is it..._

"Do not fear it, Decimus – you will not be harmed…you will merely _forget_ her and all memories associated with her, and she shall _never_ touch you again."

Several seconds of silence passed by as Decimus processed her words – until finally, he spoke.

"You are…you are sure of…it…?"

"I am certain." Prima placed a steadying hand on his shaking shoulder, stilling his frame – as this presumably provided what the humans would call _reassurance. _

He had visibly relaxed then – a sign of surrender – and allowed her to lead him to the sarcophagus – like mechanism, climbing into it without further struggle – for it was likely that at _his _stage, the oblivion of amnesia, however partial, would be welcome.

Sealing the lid, Prima walked to the control panel of the machine, her thin finger hovering over the single button in what seemed to be slight _hesitation _before she steeled herself and firmly pressed _down. _

And, just like she had said, Decimus _forgot._

* * *

**Aaaaaaaand we all know that this forgetfulness didn't really _last_, poor Decimus...but nevertheless, that's how he managed to remain temporarily oblivious to his own memories of Dangler up until about chapter 20 of CM or so.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	42. Chapter 42

**42: Memories**

Pinning the parchment to her desk with her left hand, the Commodore Prima Militus signed off the report that she had spent the last half hour writing with her tight, controlled signature, taking caution not to let the ink blot before placing the quill back in the inkwell and leaving the report on her desk to dry, as it contained the important listings of the previous day's events.

_Every _day was important, if work was completed in a timely and efficient manner, she knew – but _now_, these reports were more crucial than ever before.

She and the crew of the battleship that had participated in the retrieval mission were now returning to Valencia with a _much _more dangerous task on hand – they were to monitor and assist the retrieved marksman, Presidos Decimus.

At first hearing, she knew, it did not _seem _like a very difficult task, as he was merely _one _clockwork – but this task was anything _but _simple.

As it turns out, he had spent an extensive period of time in the captivity of Dangler, the lover and partner of Hunter Chamberlain – who was one of the main figureheads of the Resistance itself – and for as long as the Armada had held record of her, she had a particular _reputation _of cruelty.

When Decimus had been retrieved, it was truly a miracle that he had still been in _function – _for the flesh of his back had been almost _entirely _torn open by some sort of horrific weapon or mechanism, and his entire frame had nearly been _drenched _in his _own blood. _

Of course, Prima had seen to it that his wounds had received immediate treatment the day of his retrieval – but now, they had a much _larger _problem on their hands.

As it had turned out, the witchdoctor had _branded _him with a mark that seemed to act as a tracker of sorts – it allowed her to quite literally _see _him with a single incantation.

However, this did have _drastic _consequences for the marksman – for each time that this incantation was cast, he would _see _her as well – he would see her _reaching _for him, _clawing _for him, trying to _take him back again_, each time reducing him to naught but _pure fear itself, _and this happened anywhere from ten to thirty times a day.

It was horrifying to know, and even more terrible to watch – yet, the Commodore's presence did offer some sort of comfort to him, and therefore, she had taken it upon herself to provide such when necessary.

"Commodore."

One of the marines of the battleship's crew had been waiting outside of her door, and he had spoken as soon as she had opened it and stepped out into the almost _impossibly _narrow hallway.

And Prima _knew – _it was not difficult for her to _sense _the strain and confusion that was now riding on this soldier's mind.

"Has he seen _her _again?"

"Affirmative."

Prima's painted lips thinned into a harsh line.

Stepping past the marine, the Commodore moved quickly, nearly sprinting down the hallway until she came to the small room in which the marksman had been placed in, opening the door and sliding into the room.

Decimus had collapsed on his side near the back of the room – and even from where she stood, Prima could see him _shaking, _she could hear his breathing, so _accelerated _that he could not bring himself to _speak_, one of his thin, trembling bandage – covered arms held up above his head, as if to shield his form from some invisible attacker –

_Dangler. _

Moving slowly towards him, Prima dropped to her knees beside him and placed both hands on the marksman's shoulders, despite his initial reaction – he likely saw the Commodore as _her, _as the witchdoctor who became _thinner, more skeletal with every vision, _as he had said – but she let this pass, drawing his frame into her own arms in a protective hold.

"_Commodore…God, she's r-reaching for me, I can see her - !_"

"_She is not real." _Prima whispered, closing a hand around his wrist and forcibly bringing his outstretched forearm down. Indeed, her words would not likely have an immediate effect – but as she repeated them, softly, soothingly, over and over and over, his frightened, desperate gasps and hysteric pleads gradually slowed.

It would be an understatement to say that the Commodore felt pity for him – for like all other clockworks, he had a near perfect memory, and therefore, would _forever _remember each and _every _last torment that _she_ had placed him through – it was truly a _terrible _fate, what he had been condemned to – these memories that would _haunt _him, that would _plague _him forevermore.

* * *

**Yup, I actually legitimately felt _bad _for Decimus in this chapter - and it really was most fortunate for him that it was none other than Prima who retrieved him, for any other clockwork would have been completely clueless as to how to handle this situation/calm him. **

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	43. Chapter 43

**43: Pearly Gates**

Jewel could not say that she had been _surprised _when Sydney had leaped upon her like a rabid animal of prey, having gone without feeding for _far _too long – but this did not lessen the pain by _any _degree when her own _Captain _swung _both _of her fists _directly _into her skull, knocking Jewel's own petite form down and onto the stone floor of the chamber.

The very _breath _was knocked out of the woman's lungs, but she soon found that she _barely _had the time to take in even the smallest amount of oxygen again before a _searing _pain overtook her _entire _body – and she looked down, towards her abdomen, towards her legs, where Sydney knelt over her, only to see that the former privateer had _ripped _apart her silk jacket, and had now moved on to something that was _far _more easier to destroy –

Jewel's own _flesh. _

Sydney's nails, broken and jagged and sharp, easily scratched through the outer layers of flesh, and with the grey – eyed woman's _ferocity _with which she was attacking, the _entirety _of the swashbuckler's skin was soon _torn _open.

_I'm on fire, _Jewel thought, with a sense of awe and _wonder – I'm on fire, my body is in flames…!_

_So this is how it feels. _

Even though she was indeed aware of her own screaming, no matter how vaguely she registered it within her own mind, Jewel could not find it within herself to _wish _that Sydney would stop, or to _plead _for her own life.

She had seen this coming from the moment that she and Samantha had caught sight of the massive chamber that was the throne room – and it had only been confirmed when Sydney had made eye contact with her again for the first time since she had dragged Quintus below decks in order to _display _the new crystal – blue eyes that she had somehow managed to inlay within his system.

Sydney _could not _be convinced.

Perhaps she would have been right to remain within the brig of the _Grand Fife, _without an _ounce _of the very hope that had brought both her and the buccaneer to this chamber – for she had been right all along.

_She cannot be saved, she cannot be brought back, for she has crossed the event horizon, the point of no return…_

And now, Jewel could feel her throat straining – _probably from screaming, _she knew, for she had always been rather _sensitive _to physical pain, especially of _this _extent –

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

_To die at the hands of the one that you sought to save, at the hands of your Captain, your sister - _

The experience, she bitterly thought, was rather bizarre – it was almost as if she was feeling this in two different universes, in two different _planes, _as if she was in a dream – world of some sort – as on one hand, her entire _body _felt as if it was on fire – and yet, at the same time, she could feel _nothing at all – _

Save for this strange, _overwhelming _sense of numbness –

It had started from her hands, her fingertips, to begin with, and then it had spread outwards – over her arms, her torso, down to her legs, up to her head, and although she could feel the soft touch of her body relaxing to the ground for the very last time, Jewel could no longer feel the burning _pain _that Sydney's now – bloodstained, blood _soaked_ nails had left behind.

And suddenly, she could no longer feel gravity – her weight seemed to edge away, just as her vision did – and slowly, one by one, her senses were _taken _from her –

Her soul would be _delivered _now, she knew –

_Perhaps it will be better this way._

* * *

**Sad Jewel chapter!**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!  
**

** \- Severina**


	44. Chapter 44

**44: Bullshit**

Ever since that particular _incident – _that _incident _in which Quintus had nearly _strangled _Samantha – Jewel had developed a rather unpleasant, nagging sense of suspicion.

It was not particularly _unusual _for her to _have _suspicion, no – as she often went out of her way to find out anything and _everything _that occurred on board the _Grand Fife, _whether it had been intended for her eyes or not.

Naturally, such pursuits had their consequences – and occasionally, she would discover a particular piece of information that would have been better left uncovered.

And now that she was once again developing this _suspicion, _this _curiosity, _Jewel knew that she would have to fight herself – she would have to _hold back _from uncovering what was better left unknown.

_Something _was wrong with Sydney.

The privateer could say anything she wanted in her own defense – Jewel would see right into her, right _through _her.

_I don't get a lot of sleep – _

_I've been busy planning course charts._

Lies – it was really all too obvious.

Even before Jewel had officially become a part of the crew of the _Grand Fife, _Sydney was always one to neglect a proper night's sleep – it had become a routine part of her life, to stay awake and alert until unimaginable hours in the morning, only to pass out overtop unfinished charts and plans for a few hours before rising again and dragging herself out of her cabin to a brand new day.

Sydney's unhealthy sleep routine wasn't _new, _no –

But the sunken circles that had begun to appear around her stone – grey eyes _were, _as was the clenching in her jaw and her dazed state – the last was _particularly _unusual, especially since the privateer had always been one for routine and organization.

Jewel was no amateur – she had been well – educated in medicine and the human body, and she _knew _the signs of extreme stress, of worry beyond human reasoning.

_I'm fine, really – _

_It'll pass. _

Ha.

It was not a simple _mood swing – _for Sydney's mind simply did not _do _such things – not to mention that there was almost a complete absence of changed factors on board the ship that could have _possibly _contributed to –

_Except _for Quintus, that was.

Custos Quintus – the clockwork musketeer, Jewel remembered, had been the most drastic and recent change that had occurred on the ship – and if anyone, Sydney was likely the most affected.

After all, the minute that he had seen her, he had acknowledged her as his _Commander – _he, a _clockwork soldier _designed only to _eliminate _those of imperfection, had pledged his loyalty to the _pirate, _Sydney Underhill – and that was _definitely _something to lose sleep over, more than anything else.

_Something _was off about this – for it simply did not _happen _this _easily._

_Nothing has changed – _

That remark had almost made Jewel laugh out loud the minute that Sydney had said it – for it was such a _transparent _lie. Apparently, she had lacked the strength – or perhaps she had lacked the _motivation _to make herself convincing at that time.

Whatever the cause, Jewel knew that _this _was all the thought that she would be allowed to place into it – as much as she did want to find out the entire truth, she simply _could not _go out of her way to pursue it, for fear of breaking the crew apart by its joints.

After all, she knew, these things had a way of revealing themselves in time.

* * *

**Yup, Jewel always knew that _something _was up - she was only able to confirm it when it was already too late.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	45. Chapter 45

**45: Colored**

Ever since his Commander had _completed _the gruesome and painful procedure, finishing by winding several lengths of bandages over the sockets in his mask, Quintus had not been able to see – he had not been _allowed _to see.

She had let him be, at first, and he had been able to create somewhat of a picture of the scenario before him by using his other senses – he could _hear _her stomping about, and the noises carried from one side of the room to the other – and he could _feel _the waves of cool air blown by the long tail of her coat as she turned sharply, again and again and again.

Quintus could only conclude that she was _pacing, _perhaps in debate over her next actions – or regret over her previous ones.

She had been _sure of it, _he could feel, throughout the entire process, as she pinned his eyelids up with _sewing needles, _as she altered the gears of his optical systems with miniscule mechanical tools that he had _never _seen in her possession before.

Her hands had not faltered, _save for that last second, _but it did not affect her work in any way, shape, or form by that point, and her job was _done. _

For several _days_, he had sat in silence and without movement, and she had refrained from _touching _him, even – and then she had forced him up and out of the chair, gripping him harshly by his thin shoulders as she pushed him forwards and out of the room, not even bothering to pause as he stumbled over the unseen threshold of the door of her cabin.

The events that followed had passed by in a rapid blur – as all he could _truly _remember was the cold gusts of wind that blew over his face as his Commander had led across the deck, and then how they had abruptly stopped after they had descended below decks.

One thing had led to another, and eventually, he ended up in her grasp once more, and she had _torn _the bloodied lengths of bandages off from over his eyes –

And Quintus could _see. _

But it was not like _before, _no, it was not based upon the geometrical shapes and the defined outlines of the objects and beings before him, _no. _

Quintus could see _in full color. _

Just before him was the buccaneer woman, _Samantha Hawkins – _and although he had _always _known that her eyes were _blue, _they were never _this _blue – they had only ever been _blue, _just like everything else that was _blue – _but it was different now.

_Vibrant – _that was the adjective that he _now knew _how to use.

And the swashbuckler – when he now looked to her, it was plain to tell that her flesh was, in fact, slightly more _yellow, _while Samantha's held more hints of _red – _even within shades of brown and white and what Sydney had occasionally called _tan. _

Quintus was _confused _now, however – for his Commander had spun him around, around so that he was now staring into her _dark grey, _not _grey _eyes, and she was screaming unintelligible words and blurred phrases at him in desperation – about how she had made him _imperfect – _

Yet, he could not _see _why – he could only see _numerous _shades more, in greater definition than he would have ever thought possible –

Everything had become so _vivid._

* * *

**Just so you guys know, today will be a triple update, as I will be gone during the next two update dates for DMA (Drum Major Academy).**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	46. Chapter 46

**46: Embrace**

"You have to head back now?"

It was not a plead, nor did it carry anything _reminiscent _of begging – it was merely an inquiry, and this pleased the ten – year – old heiress, Sydney Underhill.

"My parents will notice if I stay any longer."

Although it was barely noticeable, she _was _apologetic in her response, and it was genuine – she truly regretted leaving this boy, the weapon crafter's apprentice – _Benjamin, _she would remember.

He nodded in understanding, his eyes slightly downcast – although this did not last for long, for he quickly snapped back into his characteristic, wide – eyed smile.

"Come on, then – I'll walk you as far as I can. It's pretty easy to get lost in the streets…unless you know your way around."

And this, he knew, most _certainly _did not apply to her – as the first time that she had come to see him, she had gotten _dreadfully _lost, and even though she was much too proud to admit it, it had been far too easy to see that she was _not _a regular in the outskirts of the area.

Reluctantly, she agreed to let him, and they had walked in silence for several minutes, with Benjamin making sure that he moved at a slightly slower pace than usual, as she almost seemed to tiptoe delicately among the filthy cobblestones, holding her skirts just high enough so that they would not brush against the ground.

"What're you doing that for?"

Sydney bit her thin bottom lip, rolling her eyes in what would likely have been called a most _unladylike _manner.

"My parents will kill me if I get mud on this dress – and they'll know that I've been out."

Benjamin couldn't exactly disagree with that.

"Wait – but wouldn't they already know that you've been gone by now?"

Sydney didn't respond for a few seconds, but then shook her head quickly in the negative.

"They probably still think that I'm in my room, or in the library – they don't pay much attention to me during the day. Mother's sick, and Father's always _busy._"

"So he's a businessman?"

"I don't _know_," Sydney threw her hands up in exasperation, although she then had to quickly stoop once more in order to prevent her edges of her skirts from becoming soiled. "But it's _boring. _He doesn't do anything else _all day!_"

And she had not said anything else after that.

Afraid to ask, Benjamin had opted to remain silent until they reached the segment of the street that was a mere two hundred feet away from the massive manor that she resided in – and she sighed in what seemed like _disappointment _upon seeing it.

"Thanks for bringing me back, I guess."

"My pleasure, Miss."

It was the _polite _way in which he had been taught to respond to people of such status.

And for the longest time, it had seemed that she would simply return to the towering, massive house without so much as a glance back – but she did _nothing _of the sort.

Instead, she lunged at him, and he had instinctively thought that she was _attacking _him until she wrapped her lanky arms around him in a surprisingly strong hug.

"If I 'get lost' again in the near future, will you help me?"

"Well, I…yeah, of course…!"

With that, she had abruptly pulled back, skittering off towards the side door of the massive house without making a single sound, her image soon lost in the shadows of the building.

And Benjamin turned away as well, little worry and little regret in his twelve – year – old mind – _for he would soon see her again._

* * *

**More of Sydney's backstory - something that I really haven't worked with all that often.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	47. Chapter 47

**47: Family**

"Jewel?"

Upon hearing her name, the swashbuckler looked up from polishing the razor – sharp blades of her dagger for what must have been the _twelfth _time that day, tossing aside the tarnish – stained cloth to fully turn her attention to Samantha, her eyebrows raised in a silent _what?_

"Do you ever miss your family?"

"My…family…?"

"Yeah – you know? Like your parents… I don't know if you had any brothers or sisters…"

Jewel had not responded immediately, but it was obvious that it was _not_ because of her lack of understanding of the question.

Rather, she was buying for time, much like many did in situations that they were not particularly _at ease _with – and although Samantha was not exactly what one would call _socially adept, _she could certainly pick up on something as obvious as _this. _

"I guess so."

The swashbuckler's answer was clipped, and she refused to make eye contact again – fortunately, Samantha did not attempt to question her further on this subject, for it was _obviously _sensitive.

It wasn't exactly like Samantha could ever fully _understand – _even though she had heard how _little _time Sydney's family had actually spent with her, the buccaneer could not help but compare this to the fact that she had never actually _had _one.

The dockmaster had raised her, yes – he had acted as what one would call a "father figure," or a mentor of sorts – but it was _not _the same.

Unlike Sydney, who had rarely seen much of her parents on a daily basis, and Jewel, whose parents wished to mold her future into something she did not want any part of, Samantha had never _known _her _true _family – and she could not hide the fact that this _saddened _her.

Jewel seemed to notice this as well from her position on the short bench in the cannon hold that they were perched on, and she quietly set her knives aside, reaching over and looping her comparatively thin arms around Samantha's larger figure in what was intended to be somewhat of a comforting embrace.

"You know, a family doesn't always have to be linked by blood."

At this, Samantha's thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she looked down at Jewel, although not quite moving away.

"It…doesn't…?"

"No – isn't Syd like a sister to the both of us?"

Now that Samantha thought of it, the swashbuckler was right – although Sydney had taken the both of them in, so to speak, she did not act _motherly _at all – rather, she treated them as her equals, and she was always relaxed when it came to speaking with them – as if they had known each other for their entire lives rather than just a few months.

_Sisters – in - arms, _Sydney had called them, once – and even though she did tend to over exaggerate in a (usually successful) attempt to motivate, this particular phrase was _true, _to the utmost degree.

Although Samantha Hawkins would never know her true parents, or her true surname, the crew of the _Grand Fife _was her _true _family –

And she was content with that.

* * *

**Aw. Poor Sam. If only she knew what would happen to her.**

**I hope you enjoyed the last of the three updates for today, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	48. Chapter 48

**48: Out of the Blue**

Everything that they had built upon for years had been toppled, shattered, and all in a matter of _minutes, _after Jewel had first found that Armada officer.

The swashbuckler had always been one to pry into the private matters of others if she found it suiting, yes, but this was not out of mere _curiosity, _Samantha reminded herself, for she had seen _blood – _and _lots _of it – leaking out from underneath the door of Sydney's cabin.

It was only natural for one to want to investigate under such circumstances – as it was only recently that both Jewel and Samantha had learned to relinquish their worry (and slight suspicion) for their Captain's well being – both physically and mentally.

The next several minutes had contained a massive collapse of events that had turned their world upside down and inside – out.

Rather than reacting with _fright, _just as most humans would do upon sight of an Armada clockwork, Sydney had _screeched _in grief – she had dropped to her knees, staining the pants and jacket of the marine's uniform that she wore with the crimson blood that had spilled from the officer's bloodpaths, clutching his frame to her chest and _wailing_ in utter _despair. _

Although it had not taken long for Samantha and Jewel to put two and two together, for the privateer was practically _confessing, _this had not lessened their shock by _any _degree at all.

It had been so _sudden – _completely out of the blue.

And now, as Samantha waited for the swashbuckler, who was chained to the wall of the brig opposite from her, she wondered if it really _was _out of the blue.

Jewel had always been suspicious, really – and Samantha had most usually _dismissed _her suspicions as an over exaggerated form of the swashbuckler's own paranoia – but this time around, she could not help but wonder if the green – eyed woman had been _correct. _

There _had _been something wrong with Sydney.

Regardless of how much Samantha wanted to think that this was _not _her Captain, that it was a fit of _hysteria _at having accomplished the ultimate feat in the Spiral – felling the Supreme Commander himself – but all of the evidence pointed away from that.

_Hasn't she been acting strange lately?_

_She never smiles anymore – _

_It's like she hates me._

All of these little remarks, these short two – minute conversations that she and Jewel had exchanged over the course of the last several months – it all began to make _sense, _it fit together like the pieces of a _puzzle _with this explanation, even though she _wished it was not so. _

The facts supporting Jewel's long – supposed suspicion were now staring her in the face with an unavoidable certainty – ever since attaining Quintus, ever since their second visit to the plundered tunnels (which was presumably when she had attained the now – terminated officer within her cabin, as Samantha had recognized his uniform), there had been something _wrong. _

It had _not _been out of the blue – rather, it had developed, slowly, yet surely, over an _extensive _period of time – not unlike how most mental sicknesses did.

And this was now a consequence, she realized, their situation now – for Sydney had been _sick _all this time, and the both of them had failed to notice, they had _failed _to save her.

* * *

**Awww, Sam sadness :(**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	49. Chapter 49

**49: Home Stretch**

Sydney Underhill and her crew marched down the hallways of the massive Armada fortress, with she and Samantha hidden underneath uniforms and masks of clockwork marines while Jewel's light form was dragged between them, her wrists firmly secured in the manacles with the other ends of the chains attached to them held by none other than her disguised shipmates.

Underneath her mask, the privateer bit her lip – it was an old habit that had somehow stayed throughout her years out of nervousness, even though she had been relentlessly scolded for it as a child.

And yet, who could _blame _her – _anyone _would be nervous in such a situation.

The final moment was _now, _for her and for her crew as well – ever since they had passed the gate, the four of them – herself, her crewmembers, and Quintus – had known that there was _no going back, _but this did not stop the level of finality about the atmosphere from _increasing _with every step that they took.

In the back of her mind, Sydney wondered if Samantha was nervous as well – it was rather difficult to tell what the other was thinking, underneath the identical uniforms and masks, although Jewel's thoughts were easy to see – she was nervous beyond _all belief, _although she had channeled it by _pretending _to struggle even harder than before, making her "role" that much more believable.

Every synchronized step that they took would bring them closer, _closer _to _everything _that she had worked towards.

And in the end, it would all come down to _this – _she would get _one _chance to attain success.

One chance to _terminate _the Supreme Commander himself.

Their plan was _delicate _indeed, primarily because it relied all on the efforts and successes of four individuals, one who had been previously affiliated with these clockwork forces – but this was what made it _possible. _

If pirates were ever to launch an attack on the fortress, it was likely that the clockwork forces would have expected a Resistance army of a _massive _scale – nothing even _close _to the minimal numbers that they had brought.

_Here – _

Just another left turn, then straight, then right – just as Quintus had told her, _just _like the list that she had spent _so _many hours over, memorizing each direction, each word, so that the plan that they had drawn out was _embedded _into her brain.

And now, the time had come for her extensive nocturnal – studying to prove itself – they would have _one chance. _

_Bring it home, _the buccaneer trainer would have told her, had she still been a teenage Resistance trainee of the Island – _bring it home, finish him!_

_Deliver the finishing blow. _

They were now nearing the massive double doors that would lead into the Throne Room, she knew – and _they _were ready.

_Samantha _was ready, for the privateer could practically _smell _the anticipation – and _Jewel _was ready, for even though the swashbuckler continued to hide the great majority of it behind her act, there was no _way _that Sydney could have missed the shift in her aura to one of absolute _focus. _

And now, _she _would have to be ready – to fight more dangerously than ever before, with more strength and more endurance than what would have ever been required of her in the past – all in order to destroy the _Supreme Commander. _

_The ultimate perfect being – _

Enough.

The time was now –

And she had a _job_ to do.

* * *

**I'm pretty sure I've spent at least one chapter focusing on each individual in Sydney's scheme - and I think it's safe to say that more or less, to sum it up, everyone's a nervous wreck and no one knew what they were doing, and the only reason they pulled it off was because they pressured themselves into it by thinking that everyone _else _knew what they were doing.**

**I analyzed this too much. I did not sleep.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	50. Chapter 50

**50: Challenge**

Anyone else would have looked upon such a goal as _impossible – _but that would not stop her.

It had started out as a mere thought, to begin with, just like everything did – but unlike a great majority of Sydney Underhill's thoughts, of her dreams and fantasies, this one would actually be _placed _into action.

She would achieve the _impossible. _

The clockworks of the Armada had been the subject of study and wonder for decades – ever since they had first come into existence – _how _they functioned and _what _their source of power was and the material that their _perfect _frames were made of –

And she knew it _all. _

_She – _a _human – _had managed to discover _exactly _what turned the gears of the Armada clockworks, _exactly _why they remained so unwaveringly loyal to their Supreme Commander, even in the face of danger and death, of fear beyond all reason –

It was why the terminated, empty frame of Optimus Caerulus lay unmoving, within a pool of his own blood, upon the floor of her cabin – all because of this _loyalty, _stronger than diamond itself.

Perfect beings, all loyal to another perfect being…

"_How ironic._"

"Commander…?"

Quintus' head had instantly snapped up at the privateer's whisper – although he had not quite been able to discern her words apart from one another, they had been meshed together so.

However, she did not acknowledge him – for these words were for _her, _and for her alone.

He was her perfect being – _her _perfect being, fallen under her rule, existing only to carry out and abide by her wishes – and this had only been further proven by the last word that the dying, bleeding Optimus Caerulus had whispered, as his hand stretched outwards towards her –

_Commander. _

The very same.

Had the wounds marring the flesh of his wrist _not existed, _had she taken care to perhaps secure the scalpel – like blade a little more _carefully, _there would have been yet _another _perfect being under her command.

And yet, he had been _lost _to her – it was her greatest failure, one that would haunt her forever, until death and beyond – even though the sacrifice of her precious officer had only contributed to the solidity of her future actions.

She would give _more _blood, from here on out – for if her hypothesis was correct (even though it was only based off of two data points – Quintus and Caerulus), then the amount of time that it took for the clockwork soldiers to become shifted was _inversely _proportional with the amount of blood that she would transfer into them.

The more blood, the less time – it was simple.

With her crew _locked up – _locked up and _out of her way, _she reminded herself – there was nothing holding her back – _not anymore. _

She was, at _last, _free to take on this challenge that had been her _dream _ever since she had been a child – to become a _conqueror, _to get even a small _taste _of the glory that the tyrants and the kings described in the pages of her textbooks had experienced.

Yes – Sydney Underhill was now free to tackle this challenge – and she would _never _back down.

* * *

**More Sydney insanity, because there's so much room for it :)**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	51. Chapter 51

**51: 50/50**

The daylight hours were truly the most frightening for the armada musketeer Custos Quintus.

They were not the _only _frightening hours, that was for certain – he had felt some element of fear at almost all times, especially when his Commander was present within the cabin – but this was definitely preferred over the _uncertainty _that would proceed to take over in her absence.

As any proper Captain would, Sydney was present in various locations during the daylight hours – on the helm, on the masts, below decks, chasing and giving orders to her crewmembers, who complied in a somewhat _lighthearted _manner –

_They have no idea. _

Samantha Hawkins and Jewel Zabra – the both of them were shockingly naïve, although this was more applicable to the buccaneer than to her smaller sister – in – arms.

While they _pretended _that all was normal, that all was fine and well and dandy, as some humans would say – he felt nothing but _terror, _observing his Commander as she worked, upon the decks of her own massive ship, her pride, her _Grand Fife. _

This was a mask, he knew, there was a _fifty _percent chance – or it was _genuine. _

Whatever it was, the chances were _exactly _equal – and he had no _certain _way of determining the mood and mindset that she would be in upon re – sealing herself inside of the cabin when night fell once more.

Would she be _calm – _or would she be _cruel?_

Quintus' attention now briefly flew to his former Captain and Commanding officer, Optimus Caerulus, where he lay, bond and prone, in the most hidden and shadowed corner of the rather large cabin.

_His _night would rely on this chance as well – even though there was no method of prediction as to _what _the outcome of this chance would be, given that it was _exactly fifty – fifty. _

Quintus did not necessarily rely solely on statistics, as of now – for he had been exposed to the crew of the _Grand Fife, _of a combination of the most exaggerated, contrasting and conflicting emotions possible – and naturally, such an environment, ever so different from the setting that he had been built for, had affected his thought process.

Even so, he could still remember the times of his previous allegiance – in which such emotions had been completely absent, in which he had been void of them as well.

They did not play a part within him then.

No – instead, he would rely on _chances – _and within these mazes of complex algorithms and calculations, there were exactly _two _feared numbers – _zero _and _fifty. _

A _zero percent _meant that there was no chance – therefore, chances were invalid in such a situation, and he would be left with nothing to base his decisions on – he could not act, he could not process.

He could only remain prone.

It was _truly _a terrifying thing, to confront a _zero – _and the same went for a _fifty, _as the arguments set on either fifty that made up the _hundred _would match each other and cancel each other out – leaving him with the equivalent of a _zero. _

Really, how was it any different?

His Commander, this woman who had the strange ability to switch moods at the drop of a hat – she induced an _infinite zero, _he concluded – and it was only fair that he was _terrified._

* * *

**I actually think that this was the concept that had confused the most people in CM - to explain it simply, Quintus was trying to determine a constant pattern or trend in Sydney's behavior so that he could learn to predict her actions, words, and emotions - but it is rather impossible to do so when she acts one way around her crew, 50% of the time, and the other 50% of the time, when she is alone with him, she acts in a completely different way, and thus he cannot determine which one the "true" Sydney is.**

**If you had already understood it to begin with, I do apologize for rambling - and if not, I do hope that this was able to somewhat explain it further.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	52. Chapter 52

**52: Time Travel**

The manipulation of time – it had been a subject that had always appeared frequently within the mind of Samantha Hawkins, and ever more so since her _capture _by her own _Captain. _

How would events go _if – _

How would she have turned out _if – _

Would she have gone _mad, _would she have told them of her plans, would she even have had this crazed desire for recognition and triumph and glory and power _at all?_

There were simply so many _questions _that Samantha had, and not _nearly _enough opportunities to get them all answered – she would only ever find out where _this _path led, and it was _here, _in the brig of the ship that had become her own home, abandoned by the woman that she had looked to as a _role model. _

_If I could manipulate time…_

It was a "question game" that she often played with herself, now more than _ever _before – if she had _one chance _to change the events that were to occur within her life, those that _directly _affected her, for such were the rules of time manipulation within her mind – _what would be changed? _

The more bitter part of her said that she would never have climbed aboard the massive black galleon that day at the Skull Island docks, no matter _how _strong her sense of curiosity was – that way, when it would set sail once more, there would be _no _stowaways below deck – it would merely be _Sydney Underhill, _and her ship.

And then, Samantha realized, if _this _had occurred, then she would not have acquired Jewel as a part of her crew either – for Sydney had only encountered Jewel during a mission – the purpose of which had been to obtain medicine for _Samantha _herself.

Had such medicine not been needed, the voyage would never have been made.

And of course, Quintus would never have been obtained – Sydney had only managed to do so through the help of her two crewmates – and if she did not have them, then a voyage to the plundered tunnels would be senseless, _unthinkable. _

Much to the buccaneer's dread, as interesting as this "game" of sorts was to play, it had once again led her to the very same conclusion.

_Had I not come into contact with Sydney – _

_None of this would have happened._

Jewel would not be hanging across from where she was right now, chained to the wall (although miraculously asleep), with the manacles around her wrists digging into her flesh so that the skin underneath became chafed and bloody.

Quintus would not have carried any particular _weight _or _memory _with him – he would not have been _Sydney's _glass – eyed, _diamond – _eyed, _beautiful _soldier – he would have merely been one of many, one of hundreds of thousands of Armada musketeers.

Samantha's ever – childish fragment of her mind did not _understand _this all – it did not _wish _for this to be so, all of this _pain, _all of this _despair – _for the time – travel game was supposed to be a _fun _pastime, an indulgence of the _what – ifs _that every man and woman and child and being harbored within their head –

But it had only turned her initial dread into _more _dread –

And, she decided, she _did not like _the time – travel game anymore.

* * *

**Poor Sammy. She just wanted the best for her captain and crewmate, really, and _none _of them met a happy end ultimately.**

**I do hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	53. Chapter 53

**53: Locked**

Hunter Chamberlain pushed open the front door of the large manor, sighing with relief upon slamming it shut behind him after he had stepped over the threshold – for it had been raining quite _relentlessly, _and would likely have rendered him sick for the next few days if he had remained out any longer.

The now – closed doors behind him blocked out the rhythmic sound of the pouring rain – and the brown – haired witchdoctor now became aware of the dead _silence _that enveloped the entire interior.

And this unnerved him –

For he could not even hear _Dangler. _

Ever since the marksman – _Decimus – _had disappeared, she had _changed, _and definitely for the _worse. _

As if something unearthly had taken control of her mind and body, for the last several days, Dangler had done naught but roam about the house aimlessly, caring not about how her limbs or sides would collide with the furniture as she did so, as if she could not feel the impact.

_Where is he, where is he, where is he, _she would whisper, and occasionally, she would _scream – _as if it was the only sentence that she had ever known throughout her lifetime.

It would have been a _relief, _perhaps, to hear her doing such again now, for at least it was somewhat _familiar – _but no.

Instead, all that he heard was _silence. _

Fearing the worst, Hunter flung his hat and coat to the ground hurriedly, dashing here and there about the massive manor in search for the distraught woman, initially thinking that she could have collapsed upon the ground in exhaustion – but she was nowhere to be found.

She was not in the lower dungeons either, he found, after searching throughout _that _floor just as thoroughly – and this only left the upper floor…

Without hesitation, Hunter bolted up the towering spiral staircase, ignoring the burning in his legs that flared up during the last few seconds as he finally reached the upper floor, his breath now made shallow as he sprinted to the door that led to the bedroom that he and Dangler shared…only to find that it was _locked. _

"Dangler?!" Hunter pounded the door several times with his fist, gripping the doorknob partially for his own stability and partially in hopes that it would _turn. _

However, he received no direct response – instead, there was merely a _crash _from within, from what certainly sounded like the large glass vase that had been located on the table in the far corner of the room, immediately followed by a high – pitched, unrestrained _shriek – _

"_Dangler! _Open the door, _please, _it's me – "

"_WHERE is he?!"_

_Not again. _

Another _thud _came from inside the room, presumably from her overturning one of the tables, or possibly the wardrobe – and Hunter flinched, a mental picture of his beautiful _lioness _in such a state of _fury _and _sorrow _flashing through his head as he attempted to use his own hoodoo to unlock the door – only to find that it was to no avail, as she had already sealed it shut with unknown magic of her own.

He did not stand a _chance _against her powers, he knew – and so he would remain _locked _out – out of her mind and out of her head, even when she so _desperately _needed him – but how was he to help her, Hunter thought, if he remained like _this – _unable to _reach _her?

* * *

**More Hunter angst, just because he has so much of it - and because as an author, I do love the pain of my characters ^^**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	54. Chapter 54

**54: Treasure Map**

Sydney had always been one for diligent record keeping – and it had _showed, _ever since she had first obtained the massive Skull Island galleon that was the _Grand Fife. _

Although she had abandoned the ship at the docks of the Isle of Doom weeks ago, months ago, perhaps, it was almost _certain _that if she were to ever somehow find her ship again, her cabin would still be strewn with papers, the floorboards covered in them as they fluttered about, here and there, from where she had overturned her desk in _rage. _

All of the maps, all of the charts, the lists and the course plans – she had spent ever so long drawing and writing each one of them out, in careful lines or in her own illegible handwriting.

Yet, they amounted to _nothing _now – as she was drawing _another _map, deep within the tunnels of the Ancient Ruins themselves – and it was _far _larger, _far _more intricate than anything that she had created before.

Of course, it was nowhere near complete – the tunnels were an almost incomprehensible labyrinth, in which all paths led to this central throne chamber – but there was much that had remained undiscovered besides this massive room.

There were numerous tombs and crypts of hundreds of individuals that she had found, each buried with a lavish number of riches and artifacts that would have been every pirate's dream, had they ever been able to _find their way _out of the maze – which they had not, judging by the many human corpses in various states of decay and ossification that she had found on several of her "exploration sessions," as she like to call them.

Rotating the large sheet of parchment that she was drawing this map upon, Sydney laid down the quill, shaking out her cramping hand for a few brief seconds before resuming her work, her head aching from those countless hours that she had trained her eyes upon a single location in such dim lighting for so long.

_This would be every pirate's dream. _

Treasure, maps, x – marks – the – spot – these were all present in the numerous tales, legends, and stories that she had been told as a twelve – year – old trainee – of the glory of the treasure hunting pirates who lived naught but to seek out their own fortunes, free from any restrictions.

Perhaps _that _was what had seemed so appealing to her about piracy, at the time – although her views had certainly changed as of now.

This map – the one _directly _in front of her, coming into the physical world by means of her own hand – was much _more _than such a map as those in the stories, however – it did not lead directly to a cursed treasure chest, guarded by spirits and other unidentified beings.

_No – _rather, it was a map of her _kingdom, _of her _empire – _for _this _was what she treasured beyond all other things.

And she would make _sure _that it would _never _be taken from her.

* * *

**More Sydney brooding because she does that a lot - in case you haven't noticed.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	55. Chapter 55

**55: Lost**

Words could not _describe _the fear that had struck through Decimus' frame and systems upon hearing exactly _what _had become of the Commodore Prima.

_Her frame, _the Captain had said, _is in the sculptor's cave. _

_Her frame._

Not _her._

And the marksman had _instantly _known that this could only mean one thing – and it was that she was no longer _functioning – _it was that she had been _terminated. _

At that moment, it had truly been a miracle that his legs had not given out, that he had not collapsed right then and there in the snow, amongst more than a hundred other Armada clockworks – as the shock was to such a degree.

_Prima. _

She had been to him what a _mother _was to mortal beings – she had seen, experienced, and understood long before he had ever been assembled and placed into function, and this came to serve the both of them when he himself had fallen to Dangler's _horrific _affections.

Although she had placed such memories of torment into a state of dormancy once he had been taken back to Cadiz, Decimus could _now _remember – now that they had been _reawakened – _the _miserable _state in which he had been shortly after his retrieval.

Cowering from the madwoman that _was not there, _shrinking back from her image in fear as he stuttered out numerous pleas for _mercy, _for her to _relent, _and the Commodore had been his anchor in the storm, giving him _firm facts _to rely on and the firm hold of her equally – thin arms to cling to.

And even then, he had not been out of danger – it had quickly become apparent, upon his arrival at Cadiz, that the Supreme Commander wished him _terminated_ – he wished him _dead, _for in his eyes, Decimus would no longer be of use as an efficient and loyal soldier, with such memories forever plaguing him – and his words would have been carried out, had Prima not stood her ground.

Much like a stubborn bull, as the humans would say, the Commodore had dug her heels into the metaphorical ground and held steadfast to her belief – in that if _she _could separate her emotions and logical decisions, then _he _could as well – with her help.

Of course, that had not been entirely clear, what she had meant – as his processor had not been built with anywhere _near _as large of a capacity and capability as she had, but in the end, her words had held true – his stability had been _restored, _even if it only had been temporary.

His function, his frame, any _scraps _of stability or certainty that had somehow, miraculously, remained within him – he owed it all to her.

And now she was no more.

His memories had awakened, he was directly within an extremely hostile environment amongst those who were completely unaware of his condition, and his only _protector _had vanished.

This was, Decimus now realized, what the humans meant – the _true _definition of what it meant to be _forsaken._

* * *

**I've always envisioned Prima as a sort of "mother" to several other characters - and Decimus was one of them. Poor thing.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	56. Chapter 56

**56: Help!**

Three _days – _it had only been _three days _since Decimus had been forcibly locked within this cell, and yet, it already felt as if it was an eternity.

Perhaps it was due to the unhealthy amount of _apprehension _within the atmosphere – for although it had certainly seemed that the Lord Kane had wished to aid his soldier, at least from the view of one who observed, the reality of his situation was quite the opposite.

After describing his attacker – and therefore confirming the re – awakening of his memories, the Supreme Commander himself had ordered the marksman to be detained – to be kept in confinement.

And although the Lord Kane had not said it explicitly, Decimus was almost _certain _of the hidden words that would have followed his sentence, had he no restraint –

_Until Bishop is ready for him. _

Bishop, the "mad tinkerer" of the clockwork Armada, as the Resistance had often referred to him – as the individual responsible for determining improvements that would be made to the future design and programming of the clockworks assembled from then on, it was his _job _to determine any _flaws _in the current designs, specifically their resistance to _conforming _to the mental _instability _characteristic of mortal beings.

_Emotion. _

Clockworks such as _him, _those few individuals who were as _unfortunate _as him, had become _flawed _due to exposure – and there was nothing less than _perfection _tolerated within the forces of the Armada.

As one of the primary laws of nature, the state of any environment constantly moved towards _maximum chaos, _towards _disorganization, _towards _entropy, _and this was the _exact _opposite of what the clockworks strived for – therefore, it was necessary for _constant _efforts to be made in order to improve their designs, in order to _further resist _this slide into _maximum entropy. _

In order to determine _which _improvements were to be made, _data _would be needed, no doubt –

Which was what _he _was, as of now.

A test subject – a test subject for the _merciless, _and often times, _cruel _experiments of the clockwork mage.

He knew this as well as any other soldier of the Armada – and so, naturally, upon first being detained, Decimus had shown a _great _deal of resistance – even though, in the end, it had been to no avail.

In _desperation, _he had _pleaded _for aid from any and all of the clockworks that had passed by the transparent cell at one point or another, only to see them walk directly past him, as if he was invisible – leading him to the conclusion that the glass was soundproof.

They had _expected _him to scream.

And yet, this did not stop him – for the next several _hours, _he had _thrown _his frame against the glass in hopes of cracking it, shattering it, _something _that would have progressed towards escape, towards freedom from his horrid fate - whether she would _look _again or whether he would be _tortured _to the point of breaking by those who were intended to be his own allies.

But the glass did not yield – and for the second time in his years of function, another time too many – Decimus knew _despair._

* * *

**Poor, poor Decimus...I'll never stop torturing him, it's too enjoyable XD**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	57. Chapter 57

**57: Twenty – Four Hours**

Without even cleaning the blood off of her hands, Sydney had sprinted back up the massive staircase within the throne room chamber as if there had been a ghost after her – and given her most recent actions, the chances of a haunting spirit pursuing her was quite likely, indeed.

At the base of this staircase, the still – bleeding body of the swashbuckler, Jewel Zabra, remained – likely never to be moved again.

Just _twenty four hours _ago, Sydney Underhill had _torn _into her shipmate's body with her own two hands, quite literally – _ripping _her innards out in a massive _shower _of intestinal fluids and blood without any restraint whatsoever, all while screaming like the complete _madwoman _that she was in _fear _and _disgust _at what she was doing, and at the same time in _joy _of her liberation.

However, the latter emotion had faded much more quickly than the first had – and now that twenty – four hours had passed, the former privateer had been left to drown in her own guilt, her own rightful horror at what she had done.

Yes – _twenty – four hours, _and the rigor mortis had started to set in, she saw – for even from her throne, which was raised high in the air above all else, Sydney could practically _see _the stiffness of the swashbuckler's limbs, and her blood had stopped flowing _out _of her body, the red liquid instead only diffusing and solidifying further.

_It is my fault – _

_I KILLED her._

How long until the rigor mortis would subside, until the algor mortis would take over, until the fluid that still remained in the lungs of what had once been her friend was expelled, along with the rest of the liquids in her body – only to attract swarms of burrowing parasites and other decomposing organisms?

The circle of life, that's what one might call this process of decay – and yet, she was still horrified by it – mainly because it was _her _who had kickstarted it all.

The _cause _was not natural, even though the process was.

Twenty-four hours, and she could already smell the death in the air – but she would _not _have the body _moved, _no – nor would she go down to move it or to view it herself. Instead, everything essential to her was _brought _to her, by soldiers who merely stepped over the body as if it were a log, or another inanimate obstacle.

It was an attempt to _ignore _the fact, the events that had occurred just _twenty – four hours _ago, Quintus had initially thought, but as he observed from his Commander, it certainly did not seem to be working – she seemed more plagued with guilt than ever before.

How long until the flesh was gone, until the cavities of her body became nothing more than a nest for maggots, for insects and worms?

How long until there would be _no _flesh left to rot away, until the stench of decomposition was gone from the air, until all that was left was a _skeleton, _the mere _outline, _the very _basis _of Jewel's frame – only _then _would she be at ease, for a _skeleton _would no longer have Jewel's heart – shaped face, nor her pointed lips or nose.

But it had only been _twenty – four hours – _and so for now, the torment would continue.

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**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	58. Chapter 58

**58: Abandon Ship**

Had she ever come face – to – face with her "past – self," as Jewel would say, Sydney Underhill was _certain _that she would have gotten slapped across the face, at the very least – not for _abandoning _her crew, no, she had thought about that from the very _beginning – _it was abandoning her _ship _that she would have held the most shame for.

A Captain _never _abandoned their ship; such was the unspoken rule, the unspoken code amongst all who sailed (save for the Armada, as such an action would be considered as illogical and an unnecessary loss of assets) – and that was _exactly _what she had done.

Given the nature of the storm that had been raging when she had docked the _Grand Fife _for the last time, Sydney was not even sure that it still _remained _there, let alone _in one piece. _

She almost _winced _just thinking about it – for there was still _some _part of her that had retained her old habits, her old mindset – that her ship was a _part _of her, as much as her arms and legs were.

Although she had always _longed _for freedom as a child, and although she had always _wondered _what it was like to sail, to be unbridled and unrestrained, she had never imagined that owning a ship of one's own would come with such an _attachment. _

It was almost as if it was a _living being, _much like a horse was.

They were not all that _different, _really, if one were to think about it – both were objects of transport, both needed maintenance and care, and both developed a rather strange bond with their owners.

She had not obtained the massive black galleon immediately upon offering her effort to the Resistance – it had taken her several years to build the profit for it, and therefore, came with a great sense of accomplishment and anticipation as well – more so than usual.

It had given her quite a sense of _power, _standing up there at the helm of such an enormous craft – and it still did to the very nearest day, leaving her with a sort of _emptiness _when she had stepped from the gangplank for what she presumed to be _the last time._

_And what of the ship, Commander?_

_We will no longer need it, _she had replied.

She had dropped the anchor, she had tied the sails, and she had performed the procedures as necessary, as needed, as if she were going to cast off again the next day, just like she had for the past several years – but there had been a sense of _abandon _with this all, such as she had never felt before.

Quintus had known, and _she _had known, that this would be _necessary, _however painful it was – to abandon her ship, her beloved companion, her vessel.

Often times, within the safety and privacy of her own mind, Sydney had compared the loss of her ship to the loss of a limb – the stump left behind would bleed and ache and cause _copious _amounts of pain – and although the wound would heal with time, just as any other fracture or cut would, she would never _quite _be the same.

* * *

**I'm uploading this at midnight (at least where I live) since I'll be driving all day tomorrow, but it's *technically* Sunday I suppose XD**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	59. Chapter 59

**59: Paralyzed**

It was _important _to conserve energy at this time, the Commodore knew – and it was rather _limiting _indeed.

Over the past few days, Prima Militus' strength had all but completely drained from her already – weakened frame – and it took almost all of her effort to prevent herself from giving out from underneath the pressing threats of the environment with each passing day.

Occasionally, she found, it was more _tempting _than usual to do so – to simply fall into a state of what the humans would call _unconsciousness, _never to rise again, never to endanger herself again…

It sounded quite _peaceful, _really – an eternal rest, and one that was _far _overdue for her seventy years of military hardships.

But then, she would be reminded (likely by her own processor) of Servus Albus – of the musketeer Captain of _her _Cadre, more vulnerable than she had ever been, even when the Polarian warriors had taken her into captivity at no more than fourteen years of function.

Her form was still curled protectively around his own, just as it had been for the last several _days, _the last several _weeks – _she no longer was _quite _certain of exactly _how _much time had passed.

He would not speak much, either – although if there was any conversation that had happened between them, it was likely that _he _had initiated it.

Most of the times, it was out of _uncertainty – _in the middle of a vast expanse of silence, he would shakily inquire of her _all _that could possibly be answered, all with a single word –

_Commodore? _

And she would either reply with words, or with movement – more often than not, it was the former, as movement was becoming harder and harder for her with each passing day, even though she had tied two makeshift _tourniquets, _as the humans would call them, over her wrists – this rendered her now – frozen hands and fingers useless, of course, but it _did _prolong her function, her chances of survival, for a _little _longer – and this, naturally, took priority.

_Captain?_

He would then ask something else of her in one way or another – he would ask her for _reassurance, _for some _trace _of certainty amongst this sea of _the undetermined. _

And she would give it to him, as best as she possibly could – whether this was in the form of a recollection, just as she had told him of her first capture – or if this was through physical means, in which she would cling to him tighter – the arm draped over his torso, or the one lying underneath his shoulder blades, which would then draw him closer to her form – knowing how thin their frames truly were, they did not generate _much _heat from their gear systems – but any conservation was likely needed at such times.

It often _worked, _these efforts of hers – but more often than not, she wished she could _move. _

It was _so _much more meaningful – even the slightest _twitch _of movement fully confirmed her existence to him – it allowed him to re – anchor a small _segment _of himself, and although this was rather insignificant as compared to the whole of him, it was _something. _

Right now, this was Prima's _purpose – _for their chances of survival were slim beyond reason, even though she would never admit this to her Captain.

And even if she were not to survive, she would do everything in her power to make sure that _he _would.

* * *

**Mama-bear Prima angst :(**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	60. Chapter 60

**60: Criminal**

"The prisoner's name again…?"

"Thomas Everhart."

The clockwork marine's reply had been short and clipped, much like the norm – and he had quickly brought his halberd away from the cell door, stepping aside to allow Bishop, the clockwork mage, to push open the door and enter.

_We have come to notify you of the breaching of the prisoner Thomas Everhart._

His mind had been _broken – _or rather, it had been pushed to the very _edge _of breaking, the edge of what the humans and other mortal beings would call _madness, _or _insanity. _

This particular prisoner was a renowned thief, more than anything else – he had been accused of numerous crimes in numerous worlds – and yet, he had never been caught _once – _

_Until now. _

Bishop had crossed the small cell in four short strides, coming nearly face – to – face with the young, blond – haired man, the pale skin of the prisoner's face almost _unrecognizable _under the dried, hardened coat of what the mage could only assume to be the prisoner's own blood.

Thomas' breathing came in short, rigid, rattling gasps, soft, almost _worn _cries constantly _pouring _from his throat.

And it was plain to see _why – _

The thief had been stripped of his shirt and coat, only for the flesh of his abdomen to be all but _torn _from his body, exposing the bloody tissues and muscles underneath as _everything _was stained the most _wonderful _shade of red –

"Thomas Everhart."

And somehow, through what must have been _deafening, overbearing _pain – the prisoner's head snapped up, his eyes almost _drilling _into the sockets within the mage's mask.

_Perhaps he does have some traces of stability left within him…_

"Accused of numerous crimes…"

Bishop's voice almost sounded _amused _at this, reciting the list of the prisoner's accusations entirely from memory, as protocol demanded – they consisted almost _entirely _of thievery, as expected, of everything from sustenance to precious artifacts, and just seven days before –

"…and, of course, you are _also _guilty of attempting to steal classified information from the clockwork Armada – honestly, I would have thought that you would have had more…_intelligence_…than to go through with such a _foolish _action as this."

Mocking, _taunting, _the mage's voice was _taunting _him indeed –

Yet, even amongst the seemingly _impassable _haze of pain, which had rendered him motionless and helpless, Thomas could clearly register the _gravity _of his actions.

He would not survive this, he knew – the clockworks standing beside him would not ensure it, _especially _not the marine to his right, who had been the one to wield the whips and the knives that had _delivered _so much _pain _to him.

"Of course, you will not be allowed to _live – "_

_Naturally, _Thomas thought bitterly, and he would have _screamed_ if his throat had not already been rendered raw and bleeding as well from all of his screams _beforehand – _

As of now, he wished for nothing _more _than death – his body had been _torn _open beyond repair, the hot – burning – hot pain _enveloping _him entirely, _torturously, nightmarishly – _death would be a _welcome _oblivion, at this point, he _yearned _for it.

"But before you are allowed to _die, _we have a few…_questions _for you…and we _fully _intend to obtain our _answers._"

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**This was definitely one of the more interesting chapters to write - as not a lot of people remember that Thomas Everhart was the pirate that stole the crown jewel of Polaris (which later became Quintus' _eyes)_ for Sydney, even though his name was mentioned again when Sydney invaded Cadiz, as he had been taken prisoner by the Armada by then.**

**I do hope that you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	61. Chapter 61

**61: Desert**

The other nine clockworks had been terminated within _seconds – _and it had been likely that the pirates had known of their presence, of their plans, from the very beginning, judging by how _suddenly _they had been shot down by the numerous musketeers perched on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.

_Nineteen, twenty, _Decimus guessed, as had been the number of explosives that had been thrown at the other nine clockworks of his squadron –

As the marksman positioned at the very rear of his formation, Decimus had just _barely _managed to escape meeting a similar fate as those that had arrived on the Island with him – he had been mere _feet _away from the entrance to the labyrinth of alleyways that seemed to snake endlessly throughout the island.

This had saved his life – he had been able to find cover within seconds, the pirates obviously having thought that they had destroyed _all _of the clockwork scouts, when in fact, they could not have been _more _wrong.

By some miracle, the marksman Presidos Decimus had managed to preserve his frame, to remain in function – yet, as he sprinted through the alleyways, his rifle held steadily in front of him and his finger planted on the trigger, he could not help but sense as if this decision had been _wrong, _in some strange manner.

He could not _quite _understand it all – as the numbers _clearly _said that he had been correct in taking actions to preserve himself, for if he had been terminated along with the rest of his squadron, the report of the intercepted Resistance plans would _never _make it back to Cadiz.

Yet, some infernal part of him still seemed to proclaim that he had been in the _wrong – _however impossible that this was.

_The humans call them deserters._

Those who abandon, considered _disloyal _or _treacherous._

As he ran, Decimus quickly discovered that he was quite torn – as while this definition had been made by mortal beings, _flawed _beings, it did _apply _to him, in a way, and now the unspoken, inevitable question presented itself to him.

Had he _truly _done all that he could?

Had he fought to his last movement, his last attempt?

It was difficult to _tell, _as of now, now that the spark of alertness that had started within him during the combat had calmed to naught more than a dull flicker – taking the clarity of his memories along with it.

_No, _he then attempted to tell himself, _negative. _

This does _not _apply, this does _not _relate, it is _not _similar – for he had acted on the programmed instinct within him that _all _clockworks possessed – and that was the instinct that drove soldiers to protect their own frames.

Regardless of how many soldiers now belonged to the Armada, each and every _one _of the individual soldiers' frames carried _immense _value – for one of theirs had over a _hundred _times the capability of that of a human's, and it was information that they _could not _afford to lose.

In fact, it had been _lucky _that the ambush which had occurred just _minutes _ago had been one that resulted in the near – immediate _destruction _of the other nine clockworks of his scouting squadron – for it would be _impossible _for the Resistance to gather information from their frames, especially since the pirates had not _thought _to look for him, since he had not quite been _seen _as he had run back into the alleys from which they had come –

And now, unnoticed and unknown, the sole survivor – _deserter – _ran on.

* * *

**Yup, here's some more background on Decimus - this is actually the squadron that he had been sent to Skull Island with, and their defeat occured only moments before he was captured by Dangler.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	62. Chapter 62

**62: Fortune**

Tapping her fingers softly at the table that she was seated at alongside the rest of the students within her privateer training class, Sydney Underhill fought to stay awake.

It was difficult, however – and she feared that she would not be able to keep this up for much longer, _especially _since the Commodore was going off on yet _another _one of his "examples – " which, as everyone knew, were thoroughly stretched tales that were _intended _to spark the interest of the students, yet usually failed to do so.

Tall tales, she concluded, that's what they were – Sydney had known this since day one.

And to make matters worse, they were all the same.

Tales of a young pirate, _just like them, _as he would say, gathering a crew and going on these voyages all around the Spiral that were _much _too unbelievable to be true, as if it was supposed to _inspire _them to follow in this obviously – imaginary figure's footsteps.

She would have laughed bitterly, had it not been that she would have drawn unnecessary attention to herself with such an action – _here _was where they were supposed to be made and molded into _leaders _beyond all comparison –

And yet, they were doing anything _but. _

In fact, such stories were often demoralizing – they were told so often that they were on the very borderline of becoming _standards, _standards that a great majority of the trainees currently within the session would _never _be able to meet.

They would never find massive chests of gold, or bury themselves in immense glory and fortune – rather, many of them would end up as a single speck within the crowd of others that were held up to and pursued the same standards.

Even knowing that she was the top of her class had not helped – at the rate that this training was going _now, _it was doubtful that they would _ever _get to fulfill the false hopes and dreams that they had planted within their mind from the very first day.

Not to mention the fact that she did not have any _connections, _like many of her session – mates did – and she would have to build an entire crew from scratch, with no former ties or alliances to start it off of.

Finding a fortune.

It was every pirate's dream, but only attainable by a few – and the numbers grew smaller and smaller with every passing day, given the growing danger of the Armada and the increased need for militarization.

Before long, they would be trained to be naught but simple soldiers rather than privateers and witchdoctors and buccaneers, Sydney thought, her lip curling slightly in disgust as she subconsciously clenched her fists – luckily, she was towards the back of the office as of today, and her slight action would not be noticed.

_Nothing more than footsoldiers – _

_Drones._

She _refused_ to let that happen – she would _forbid _it to happen to _her, _regardless of how many other unfortunate individuals fell victim to such a standardizing system – rather, she would take matters into her _own _hands, eventually – she would pull _ahead _of this treacherously slow pace, and she would _build _her own fortune.

* * *

**Firstly, I do apologize for missing the last two updates - as I was at away band camp and had no access to my computer or to the internet. Any planned absences will be announced via journal on my DeviantART page, so keep an eye on that!**

**Young!Sydney is certainly interesting to write - she was spoiled as heck and bored to death in Marleybone, and although Skull Island did present her with a bit of a rougher life, she managed to remain thoroughly unamused and relatively unfazed throughout.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and please be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	63. Chapter 63

**63: Apocalypse**

The end of the world – this _must _be it, Hunter thought, as he felt the brushing of the countless strands of black hair against his ankles, for it had fallen over the ground that had surrounded them both as if it was snow – _this _is the end, this is _hell. _

He could not bring himself to _move, _his feet had been rooted, planted into the partially – flooded stone pathways at the base of the pyramid of the ruins, amongst the remains of his _everything, _all that was _left _of his _world – _

_Dangler. _

His mind would _never _be able to fully process such _loss, _he realized with what seemed to be an _ironic _indifference, as if he was drunk or intoxicated –

And that led him to the inevitable question.

_Will I go mad?_

_I suppose I will._

He had answered his own question within seconds, all while carrying the same indifference, the same _bizarre _level of calmness.

It must have been _thirty minutes _that he had stood here – and he still had not moved, for if he _did, _it would mean that he had _acknowledged _the events that had happened just thirty minutes prior, it would mean that _this _would become his reality.

It had not even been an _hour _since he had last held her form within his arms, as skeletal and as fragile as it was, she was still _Dangler, _even though she had barely been held together by snapping piano wire and fraying string – she still had eyes to look into and fingers that he could entwine his own with, and a _physical body _that he could embrace and protect and reassure –

However, no longer did this exist, no longer did _she _remain with him in this dreadfully limiting physical world.

Instead, she had returned to the ashes from which she came – it seemed rather _fitting, _given that she herself had been the practical embodiment of _fire _during her days of power, of glory, of the _sanity _that she had relinquished so many years ago.

She had returned to the ashes, these ashes that now lay strewn around his feet, settling within his clothing, his hair, and the silk folds of the blood –splattered black dress and the scattered bones that remained within it –

The very sight of it _anguished _him, and yet, he _could _not run, he could not even _scream, _for he was so _rooted _with terror and disbelief, his ever – stubborn mind _refusing _to accept the fact that she was _gone – _

And it was not only _her. _

Just a few feet away from where the brown – eyed witchdoctor stood, the corpse of Samantha Hawkins lay strewn, a gaping, bleeding burn wound in the side of her head as the flies buzzed over and around her lifeless, yet _ever _vibrant blue eyes.

And, of course, he could _not _forget Jewel Zabra, whose remains now lay at the base of the cruel dictator's massive throne, torn apart and mutilated beyond _all _recognition –

All while _Sydney _looked on, all while _Sydney _declared her power, built her legions, and satisfied her never – ending hunger and lust for _control. _

The end of the world – it had always been something that Hunter had been slightly paranoid of, a series of catastrophes that would cause all life as he knew it to be altered, and to be mostly _demolished _forever – but in all of his life, he would have _never _imagined it to be like _this._

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**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	64. Chapter 64

**64: Dancing**

It had been rather _surprising _to Hunter when she had _accepted _his offer, really – as by the time he had finally worked up the strength and courage within himself to do so, he had half been expecting her to turn him down in a heartbeat.

And who could _blame _her, he had thought, she was in the position to do so, she had every right to do so – and it would not be any loss for _her. _

With such an appearance as she had, with how she seemed to _ooze _confidence, Dangler could have the entirety of the male population of Skull Island falling at her feet within mere _seconds. _

_They've got some kind of a celebration going on at the tavern later on today – I can take you if you want to go_.

This had been a strange format of request as to how one would usually court a young woman as she – but judging by how little she had actually shown her face at the island, in this manner, he would be taking care of the navigation problem (navigation of the island's streets, of course) before they presented themselves.

And, contrary to his expectations, rather than laughing shrilly and turning him away with a single wave of her hand, she had graciously accepted – as if she had always wanted to go to such events, but never had before.

This led to where he was now, standing amongst what seemed to be a celebratory crowd of pirates within the Kraken Skulls tavern, all of them commending a single figure – a male swashbuckler whose name Hunter could not quite recall – who had succeeded in dealing a major blow to the Armada troops within Valencia, the very heart of the forces – although judging by the bandage that covered half of his face, he had not escaped _unscathed. _

The music within the building was full of discord and had little restraint to it, yet, the out – of – tune violins almost seemed to have a sort of harmony between them, serving their purpose to keep the time as those in the further side of the tavern danced together, arm in arm, at some frenzied tempo that Hunter himself would _never _be able to keep up with – after all, he had been raised as the son of a nobleman, and had instead been taught the more _refined _manners of dance.

Yet, when he looked out amongst the massive crowd before him, his gaze had almost been instantly drawn to Dangler, to the grey – eyed, curvaceous witchdoctor as she whirled among the crowd with enough _unrestrained _grace to make one believe, on first glance, that she was _extremely _skilled.

The way that she seemed to twist and move her figure in perfect time, the fabric of her dress (as well as the multiple scarves that she had tied around her waist in an imitation of Vadima) forming a sort of tornado around her as she _danced _with _grace, _yet with _power. _

Such contrasting things, grace and power, seemed almost _impossible _to combine in a great majority of scenarios and still achieve maximum effect, but it appeared that she had _done it – _and perhaps _that _was why Hunter was absolutely _captivated _by her, perhaps it was why he could not take his eyes off of her even if he had tried, like most of the young men within the tavern –

For she was an _enchantress, _in more ways than one.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	65. Chapter 65

**65: City Lights**

Valencia was not like other worlds that the crew of the _Grand Fife_ had seen and been to – at least it did not _appear _so, not from the distance that they were currently at – for it was almost _completely _dark.

There was not a single light visible on Granchia, or in Sivella, or in _any _of the other islands, for that matter – it was as if the entirety of the skyway had been doused in black paint, to match the color of the night sky.

This was almost _perfect _for them, really – as their ship was black, and would therefore blend in – but this still did not change the oddity that was the complete lack of visibility.

Even now, within Samantha's small cabin, where the three women were clustered, they could not light a lamp or a candle – Sydney had forbade it, as even though it was small, it would be obvious among the sea of absence, and so they had settled for waiting in silence, in darkness.

And then -

"_How long do we have to stay – "_

"_Shut up, Sam!" _

The buccaneer had been quickly hushed by Jewel in a rather harsh tone, and perhaps the sting was even palpable to Sydney, for _she _then spoke aloud, breaking the silence.

"We don't have to keep completely quiet – we just can't shout, that's all."

However, this did not do a thing to dispel their paranoia – they hurriedly stood to quiet her, blue and green eyes darting everywhichway and _here _and _there, _in fear of an overhearing Armada ship, regardless of the fact that they were currently positioned far below decks.

Although Sydney had rolled her eyes at their unnecessary reaction, she did not further drive them into a panic by continuing to speak aloud in the volume that she most usually did – instead, she decided to fall silent again, leaning her face in towards the single, small window within the tiny cabin.

"It's so dark…"

Jewel cocked an eyebrow in an expression of slight surprise – surprise that her own _Captain, _who hated unnecessary things more than anyone she knew, would waste her breath on such obvious words.

"Well, it's night – you would think that it would be – "

"_No, _I meant the city – you can't even see any lanterns, or house lights…"

And even though this did not pose any sort of immediate threat to them, Samantha and Jewel had instantly risen from where they had been crouched on top of the buccaneer's cot (which had somehow miraculously managed to support the weight of all three of them for the past hour), wishing to see _just _what their Captain was talking about – for although it was obvious that it was dark, this abnormality that she had just drawn light to had gone completely unnoticed, completely forgotten until now.

"_Whoa._"

It had been a combined _gasp _of sorts, a sound of complete astonishment from the both of them.

"You can't even see where the land is…"

And it was true – the best outline that they could get of specific structures or of the very edges of islands came from the patrolling Armada ships – which did have _some _lighting, regardless of how _dim _it was – for the clockworks were not able to see in complete darkness, like them, and required at least _some _light to be able to function.

It was quite eerie – for they no longer had any concept of _where _they stood in space, of _where _their location was relative to the fortress, or the remnants of the islands that surrounded it, as they did not have enough _light _to obtain adequate visibility.

Just as the clockworks did – it was why they still used minimal lighting aboard their ships, and if one were to simply put these lights out, the clockwork soldiers themselves would be plunged into this complete darkness, unable to make _calculations _based off of their vision.

Perhaps, in this way, these machines were not all that different from them.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	66. Chapter 66

**66: Skyline**

They were mere minutes away from Skull Island, minutes away from their intended target – and even though they had remained unseen so far, sheltered by the darkness, Prima knew _exactly _where they were relative to the pirate haven itself, relative to the floating rock formations that surrounded it.

After all, a clockwork's memory was absolutely impeccable – and she could easily recall and piece together every memory that she had ever associated with this skyway, with this island, to create a flawless map within her processor – except for the structures located on the island, of course.

For, like everything else, as the population of the island had grown drastically over the last few years, it was almost completely certain that new buildings for residence would have to be built, more arenas for training and classrooms for instructions on naval tactics (some of which were outdated, judging by the fighting styles of some of the privateers that Prima had been instructed to _take care of _in the past).

That part was uncertain, for now – and it would _remain _uncertain until she had the clockwork musketeers of the white cadre stepped foot on the island and set the nearest building ablaze, which would throw light over a radius large enough for them to continue on.

Yet, that would not occur for a while – for now, she would have to rely on the lights that were _just barely _visible in the windowsills of the various buildings, and then trying to predict an outline of the skyline of the island, perhaps by trajectory – knowing the different elevation points of the island's geography also came to assist her here – for the more they were able to plan their actions ahead, the less time it would take for them to complete their mission, all while minimizing clockwork losses.

"Slow the pace _gradually – _we are approaching the edges of the land formations."

This itself would be particularly difficult – as from what she remembered, there were several jagged rock and land formations that jutted out from a single side of the island, specifically, from the _south _side – where they were supposed to enter from, in order to minimize detection.

One miscalculation, one mistake, one _error – _and the ship would be effectively blasted to smithereens within mere _seconds, _within the blink of an eye.

But Prima was not frightened – she was not even _unnerved, _for she knew that her calculations were accurate, and that the soldiers aboard her ship were bound to follow her orders down to the most minute detail, including those details that were _unspoken. _

Placing her hands on the railing of the ship as she stood at the helm in order to maximize her own line of vision, the Armada Commodore found that she could feel every slight adjustment in direction, in speed, that was made by the crew, all gradual, at a _perfectly _calculated rate of decrease.

Although a _visible _skyline was usually what one used to determine the layout of any particular setting or world, the clockworks did not _need _it – it was what separated them from the humans, their ability to take a single piece of data and instantly make actions based off of it, even without a second variable to determine a relationship with.

And, Prima concluded, even they did not have what the humans would have called a "home field advantage," their victory was _imminent._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	67. Chapter 67

**67: Flying**

No matter _how _much Samantha Hawkins had told herself that she needed to _remain silent, _that she needed to _keep quiet, _to refrain from uttering a single word, a single _sound, _this did not stop the high – pitched shriek of _exhilaration _and _terror _that had escaped from her throat when the sails of the ship were suddenly caught by a _massive _gust of wind, causing the acceleration to _triple _in the blink of an eye.

She had clapped a hand to her mouth immediately, of course, having realized her mistake milliseconds after it had been made, but it was too late –

Yet, as of now, she did not _care – _her mind was occupied by _other _things such as how the seemingly bottomless skies whizzed past at a breathtaking rate, or how the wind whipped her face even through the gunport that she was currently sticking her head out of – which was probably a bad idea, given that her hair had been blown so violently into her eyes that she could no longer see clearly.

Of course, the looming threat of _discovery _by the grey – eyed privateer who captained this ship was ever present – but _never _had she experienced this sensation of _freedom, _freedom from land, from the _static _presence, from _gravity itself, _it seemed.

Had she not been within this ship, crafted only and entirely of wood and metal – she would have fallen into the endless abyss, forever and ever until _it _came to an end or _she _came to an end, whichever came first.

Ignoring her better judgment for the time being, Samantha slowly leaned forwards so that her entire _torso _was out of the gunport, clinging to the ropes of the cannon for _dear life _as the wind blew down the collar of her shirt and up its hem, past her face and whistling in her ears as the _massive _ship raced on, defying gravity itself, sailing _above _gravity.

No, not just _sailing – _

She was _flying. _

_Why was a Captain so attached to her ship?_

It had always been one of Samantha's biggest questions, having never received training nor experience in sailing herself, unlike almost all of the trainees of the island – and therefore, she would never be able to understand, at least not fully, at least not firsthand.

Taking a deep breath (and struggling to keep it from being instantly crushed from her lungs), Samantha _whooped _in exhilaration, pumping her first in the air as she shut her eyes and leaned just a _little _further out –

The thrill, the _adrenaline, _the _excitement – _

She lived for it, she _drank _it in, and Samantha Hawkins understood a little more.

Captains of ships, or even _crewmembers _on ships were at the complete freedom to experience this wonderful ride whenever they so desired – out among the skyways, where no other laws than their own governed them, and although Samantha had never been one to seek positions of authority or possession of power, she had seen several individuals who had.

Perhaps she would learn to seek it too –

Perhaps she would _finally _understand.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	68. Chapter 68

**68: Feathers**

Quintus had initially flinched at his Commander's touch – at the scrape of her bluntly calloused fingers, the outermost layer of skin peeling off of some of them in all the areas in which she had gripped the ship's wheel daily –

"Hold _still…_"

An order –

And so he did.

"You're so thin…"

Her voice was a gravelly – low whisper – _not _the voice that Quintus was used to hearing, given how loudly she often belted out orders, often straining her voice to the point of hoarseness every other day or so.

This only unnerved him more, her voice – and combined with the soft ghosting of her fingertips over his waistline, his shoulderblades –

The clockwork musketeer had never been so _frightened _of his own Commander.

"Your waist…it is no more than…_twenty _inches, it must be…"

"I was built and assembled in this state, Commander."

And although Quintus had most certainly tried his _hardest _to keep his voice from trembling, from shaking in _fear – _there was _no _erasing the slight tremor that had betrayed him towards the tail end of his sentence.

It was as if it had been bait placed in front of a lion – within _milliseconds, _faster than either he or she could comprehend, Sydney had caught it, the grey – eyed privateer had _snatched it up. _

"_You…_do you know…how _jealous _I am of you…?"

_And I of you, Commander, _he had wanted to respond – but she had then encircled his waist with her fingers, using both of her hands so that her thumbs touched around his back from where she stood behind him, so that the nails of her long index fingers were inches away from each other.

_Twenty inches. _

She was _precisely _right, even though he had never confirmed her estimation.

"I wonder…I wonder how much…_I'd _have to lose…to be like you…"

_To be featherweight._

And those hands now left him -

_Thank God – _

Only to circle around her own waist in a similar fashion – it was an identical motion really – an identical motion, an identical moment – except for the fact that unlike what she had done with Quintus, her fingers _did _not overlap – no matter how hard she strained.

"_Thirty one…!"_

She had said this with _abhorrence – _with _hatred, _even though Quintus had calculated a million times over and a million times _again _that such a number, such a ratio, such a measurement was _perfectly _proportional and regular and _healthy _for a human female of her height – and he had tried to tell her countless times, too.

Naturally, she didn't listen – she _never _listened.

_Featherweight. _

As internally horrific as this most recent experience had been for the clockwork musketeer, Quintus would _never _be able to forget how one day, after a long and seemingly endless period of sailing, she had barged into her cabin with an aura of _rage _about her as she headed straight for him, dragging him by the wrist to her location before coiling her arms around his waist and _lifting _him off the ground –

And then just _holding _him there.

Unable to act against her, to get himself down, Quintus had simply watched her face for a change in expression – and he had soon enough detected one, one of _prominence – _for her eyebrows had relaxed from their furrowed position before shooting up high on her head, in _shock, _in _astonishment._

_You weigh nothing, she had said._

_Nothing._

_Featherweight._

It was something that she _desperately _wanted, he knew – and it would pose a _great _danger to her, should she actively pursue it.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	69. Chapter 69

**69: Underage**

_You're too young._

It was always the excuse that the dockmaster had given to Samantha as a child whenever she had inquired as to when would _she _be able to sail, to have a ship of her own to call her pride and joy.

And it was only recently that she had realized that this was a lie.

Of course, such a conclusion was made internally, it was made within her, unseen and unheard of from all others, even from Jewel, who was sitting less than three feet away from her in the canon hold, sharpening her blades with some sort of odd – shaped grey stone for what must have been the _thirtieth _time this week.

_You're too young – _

_Too little – _

_Wait until you're older – _

Even though she had pulled in countless ships manned by newly – named Captains who were _younger _than her, especially those who sailed the rafts, those pathetic excuses for skycrafts – they could not have been more than _twelve _years old, even while she had been pulling in ships up until the age of sixteen – when she had been taken into the crew of the _Grand Fife. _

And yet, this still did not answer her question.

_Why?_

It had always been the question that her mentor had waved away, only blaming it on age (even though she had not been able to prove this claim false until very recently) or on the lack of experience –

Which had made no _sense _to her, obviously, as how was one supposed to _get _experience if every opportunity to attain it was also _limited _by it?

It had not made any sense to her back then, but when she had been on the island, almost as if she had adapted to his automatic answer of _age _being the source of the problem, she had blamed it on her _lack of experience _as well.

And now, now that she was _not _as naïve as she had been before, Samantha felt _cheated. _

She felt _cheated _of her opportunity that could have been hers as much as _eight years ago, _of the different path that her life could have taken – of course, if that were to have occurred, it was not likely that she would have been able to meet Sydney, which was an opportunity that she would not have given up for the world - but just knowing that this one additional choice would have been _available _to her was _infuriating. _

_Would I understand how it feels to fly?_

_How it feels to be free – _

_Bound by nothing?_

No, Samantha had quickly corrected herself then, _not _bound by nothing – she would have been bound by the Resistance, by the Captain Horace Avery and by the trainers of the Island, which became more _detestable _within her own mind the more she thought about it.

With _so many _new trainees and so many agents required just to attain _one _accomplishment, their organization must be mediocre at best, she concluded – it was why Sydney had decided to cut their ties to the Resistance, to the Island, without so much as letting her former superiors _know. _

Now that she thought of it, perhaps it was for the better that she had been _too young._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	70. Chapter 70

**70: Golden Years**

Every empire had its golden age – it was a phrase that Sydney had come to a conclusion at long ago, after she had ran through the hundreds upon hundreds of history records and recollections – but regardless of how many times she repeated this phrase through her head, her current situation did not make any sort of sense to her.

_Has my golden age passed?_

Or better yet, had she even _had _an empire to begin with, had her "empire" been a mere falsity that she had convinced herself of?

Regardless of what her reality was (or rather, what her _perception _of her reality was), she would _attain _an empire soon enough, that she was _certain _of – however, she could not prevent herself from thinking back to her crew, letting her _damned _emotions interfere with the planning that would _surely _be necessary to run such a large number of soldiers, to run her _legions._

It was odd for her to think of such – how barely a year ago, she would have been resting peacefully by now, satisfied with the knowledge that she had her crew had performed to their full potential throughout the day – which was certainly _true, _but by now, it did not have any sort of impact on her whatsoever, as her crew and their actions were only ever _secondary._

Indeed, from Sydney's perspective, she seemed to be all but _neglecting _her crew, even though the two of them were certainly the best of friends and could rely on each other to keep busy and amused.

Her interactions with them were short, her speech, if she was not shouting orders, was often clipped, as if she had made some sort of vow to an unknown power that she would use the _minimal _amount of words _possible._

Of course, she had planned so in such a manner that only _she _would know of what truly transpired within her mind, what she _truly _was planning behind the closed – and – bolted door of her cabin when the sun had long since receded into the west – but how her _crew _saw this was another matter entirely.

"Quintus."

"Commander?"

Sydney paused, formulating her sentence carefully (as to maximize his comprehensibility) before speaking again.

"Do you believe that my crewmates are knowledgeable of my state?"

She truly _hated _speaking of herself in this way, as it made it sound like she was plagued with some sort of horrid chronic disease, or as if she had _completely _mentally deteriorated, and was miraculously able to hide it.

The latter was a possibility, of course, but she _refused _to think of it as such –

"I do not believe so, Commander. Their past actions of concern do not mirror those that they display now."

As usual, it had taken the privateer slightly longer to decipher the true meaning behind the clockwork musketeer's words – but in the end, she found that he was right.

When she had first started acting _odd, _or so she considered, both Samantha and Jewel had expressed _worry _for her –

And they no longer did so.

Her crewmembers were not those to hide their emotions like she was, Sydney knew – they saw no worth in doing so, and she could put at least _some _certainty in this.

_And so they still live within their golden age, _Sydney had eventually concluded –

_Their golden age, their blissful oblivion – _

Yet, hers had come to pass long ago.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	71. Chapter 71

**71: Revenge**

When Hunter had finally realized that Dangler's dresses simply did not _fit _her anymore, that they did not cling to her once – so – voluptuous form any longer, he had been _mortified._

She had not _shared _his fear, of course, as she remained sunken in the pool of loose – fitting fabrics, an almost _giddy _expression on her face as she immersed herself within her own illusions once more, her own illusions of the clockwork marksman, Presidos Decimus.

_Decimus – _

Again.

His heart had thudded with fear and his veins nearly _overflowed _with desperation as the witchdoctor dropped to his knees beside her thinning form - for the grey circles underneath her eyes had now become just a _little _more visual, and her cheekbones, which had once been a mere addition of contour to her beautiful, heart – shaped face were now prominent, like the points of daggers embedded beneath her skin.

"Dangler…?"

In response, she had glanced his way once, but only for a few _milliseconds _before she had returned to her own world, her own realm in which she was _lost _in illusion –

"_Beautiful…"_

"Dangler!"

"_I can see him…all the way from here, you know…I can still see him, and he's right over - !"_

"Dangler, _stop!" _

His voice now taking on a _much _more aggressive tone than before, Hunter seized the woman's bare shoulders (as her now – loose dress had slipped from them) and shook her roughly.

This was enough, apparently, to get her attention, and the unfocused fog seemed to leave her eyes for a rare moment as she locked onto his gaze with her own –

"What are you _doing?!"_

"This has gone _too _far, Dangler – "

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET AWAY FROM ME!"_

And she had _slapped _him away from her – _Hunter Chamberlain, _her own _lover – _only to immerse herself in her hallucinations, her _illusions _once again.

Hunter had fled the room shortly after – how could he _remain, _after this sort of reception? It was nearly _impossible _to think of, _impossible _to bear, having been shoved out of her mind, her world like such, only to be replaced with –

_Presidos Decimus._

There was not a being that Hunter hated _more _at the moment, regardless of the fact that _he _had been the one to capture the marksman in the first place, regardless of how Decimus had _dreaded, hated _being the object of Dangler's _twisted _methods of affection –

He had caused _all of this. _

The male witchdoctor's thinking now began to travel down a _much _different route, driven and steered _only _by the thoughts of _exactly _what he would do to Decimus, the _pain _that he would bring upon him, if their paths were _ever _to cross again –

He would _rip _his flesh from his torso, just as Dangler had, and he would _snap _his thin, alabaster limbs, he would _make him scream _until his throat had torn and bled from it –

For this single soldier was the _cause, _the cause of her deterioration, of his grief, their loss –

And this was _not _something that was forgivable _in the least._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	72. Chapter 72

**72: Assassin**

Even now, _weeks _after the assault upon the fortress of Cadiz and the Supreme Commander Kane himself, Sydney still _doubted _the sequence of events, the order in which the actions had occurred, and even the specific individuals who these actions had been performed _by. _

And she debated this again, again for what must have been the _thousandth _time as she paced back and forth, back and forth about her cabin, with Quintus' eyes never leaving her, as the all – obedient, ever – loyal soldier.

The ex – privateer was making _another _list, and it was now in the form of the crumpled sheet of parchment that was clenched and crumpled within her left fist, the barely – legible handwriting only spanning _halfway _down the page.

This, of course, was _wrong._

She had only made it _halfway _through the sequence – the conclusion had not been _determined._

And this was because it was _unclear, _hence the reason for her _obvious _frustration.

Although she had _launched _the assault, although she had been the main figure in the detailed planning of this that was now spread out over many similarly – destroyed scraps of parchment, _she _was not the one who had delivered the _ultimate blow _to the Supreme Commander Kane.

_No._

It had been _Sam._

Sydney herself had _engaged _the first of the clockworks in combat, yes – and he had _forced _her to her knees, he would have _killed _her, had it not been for _Samantha Hawkins, _who had acted as a juggernaut of sorts, _knocking over _the Supreme Commander and _bludgeoning _him into a state of incapacitation as if it was _nothing, _as if it was _effortless._

And now that she thought of it, given the buccaneer's strength, it likely _was _effortless.

She had been _afraid _of Samantha at that time, seconds after this fearsome display of physical power and capability – and it was only _all too fortunate _that the buccaneer was so gullible, that she had been persuaded to contribute towards Sydney's hidden agenda without much of a conflict at all.

And it was also _all too fortunate _that Samantha was _much _too selfless for her own _good, _that her immediate reaction to the conflict had been to assist her Captain and not to fully realize her own victory over the _Lord of the clockworks._

The privateer was partially _jealous – _for if _only _she had held out for _slightly ever longer, _if only she had _endured, _this victory would have perhaps been hers -

But on the other hand, she had to be grateful for Samantha's quick actions (despite her constant state of distractedness, she was an _insanely _fast thinker), for if the buccaneer had not stepped in at that moment, Sydney would not have lived through the ordeal.

The blue – eyed woman's motive had been to _protect _Sydney – it was just _chance _that she had happened to _assassinate _the Supreme Commander in the process.

Even now, now that both she and Jewel were locked in chains below the decks of the ship, there was a high chance that Samantha would not have quite accepted the harsh reality that enveloped now – a high chance that she still believed there was some _good _within her Captain, that she wanted to _help _her more than anything.

_Excellent._

As therefore, when she _did _build the legions that she had so _dreamed _of, there was not a high chance that this _fearsome _woman who carried within her the strength of a thousand men would become _her _assassin as well.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	73. Chapter 73

**73: Holding Hands**

It had surprised Hunter, the day that he had started courting Dangler, Vadima's own private student who possessed _amazing _power and talent – as she had so displayed when she had _defeated _him within what must have been six seconds.

He had never thought that she would have been one to respond positively to hand – holding.

It was a lighthearted gesture of trust and of interest that couples often displayed, as he had so seen along the streets of the island, traveling from his training sessions to the manor and back again, but he had never expected _Dangler _to tolerate it as she had when he had attempted it.

And yet, now, they walked slowly along the docks, with his hand grasped firmly around her long – fingered one.

Her nails were long and sharp and painted black, although they were not _unpleasantly _so – in fact, Hunter found them to be rather elegant in a manner that he could not _quite_ identify at the moment.

His fingertips traced the perfectly – filed – shaped edges of them, and she did not notice – or perhaps she did not _mind, _for she merely kept walking straight ahead, with somewhat of a dreamy smile plastered over her face – it was _quite _unlike the tempting, almost _flirtatious _look that she seemed to constantly wear, that she was so _known _for.

And this made him feel _special._

_You've ever done this before?_

_No, _she had replied, and he had been _shocked, _as it was practically _common knowledge _that many within the island had sought after her, perhaps even _lusted _after her – but none had actually been brave enough to _court _her.

Perhaps this had been out of their own insecurities; perhaps it had been out of fear of Dangler herself.

Therefore, it was safe to assume that she had never displayed this side of her personality in front of any other – save for perhaps Vadima, who had acted as a sort of mother figure to her for the great majority of her life.

As they continued to walk, some part of Hunter wondered if she was fully _aware _of all of this – for although she certainly _seemed _to be, with the way that she practically _teased _everyone with her mere _presence, _she had never said it explicitly, and he could not be quite certain.

_Perhaps she is more innocent than is thought, perhaps she is naïve – _

And then, as if she had read his mind –

"Hunter?''

He turned his head towards her in silent acknowledgement, locking eyes with her – and it almost felt as if she had _frozen _his soul –

"Do you only like me because of my…face?"

_Physically._

Of course, in that aspect, she was looked at for much more than _just her face, _but even Dangler had enough decency to merely imply it.

_So she is aware._

"Of course not!"

Hunter had responded quickly, almost _too _quickly, and Dangler almost looked taken aback –

"You're a lot more than a _face, _you know…you have _talent._"

She relaxed visibly, now looking at him with curiosity – obviously, another person had never said this to her before, even though she had likely already known it about herself.

"You're powerful and strong in hoodoo – and your mind is like that as well, you have _confidence _in your own abilities…and I think that's _beautiful._"

Dangler had not replied after that – she had merely stared ahead, stunned into silence, as was obviously visible on her face – as to hear this coming from another who loved her more than they loved themselves was _quite _different.

Yes, she did indeed have the face of a goddess, yet –

_All of her._

Hunter loved _all of her, _from the _very beginning._

* * *

**In which Dangler used to be somewhat of an awkward teenager as well, when she and Hunter first met XD**

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	74. Chapter 74

**74: Take One For The Team**

It was nearly _impossible _to hear any individual's voice over the sheer bundle of noise that was generated from the fight – the clashing of the metal of axe, hammer, and daggers against shields and halberds, the privateer's bellowing voice as she shouted out commands, the bursting of the charges from the Armada musketeers' guns as they flew through the air.

Yet, when Jewel had _screamed _in complete and utter _pain, _it had managed to carry over and through, and both Sydney and Samantha had heard it _instantly._

It had been as if some kind of instinctive course of action had been triggered – rather than continuing to fight the pair of clockwork marines head – on, the two women had now taken a much more evasive approach, only striking the number of blows necessary to impede forward movement for at _least _several seconds – that was all they needed – before turning and sprinting towards Jewel, towards the source of the noise.

Upon finding the swashbuckler, without hesitation, both Sydney and Samantha had grabbed hold of her arms, supporting her weight on either side of her before sprinting away, out of the cluster of clockworks and into the depths of the tunnels, towards the narrower, more treacherous paths that Sydney had charted out several days before.

Jewel remained silent throughout this entire ordeal, even though her running was strangely lopsided – a definite limp – and her face was contorted into a grimace of _excruciating _pain as she attempted to keep up with Samantha and Sydney's almost _inhumanly fast _pace.

Sydney had _clearly _seen this, and she had _clearly _become aware of her comrade's critical condition, yet she had not stopped, and she _would _not stop –

_Not until they are safe._

It was only when they had reached the rough, partially – collapsed segment of the tunnels that they had hidden in the night before – an area that the Armada was not likely to find or search – that Samantha and Sydney had finally stopped, gently laying Jewel on the ground, the latter only _barely _managing to hold in her scream as her wounded side was shifted.

"_What happened?"_

Instantly, Sydney had knelt by Jewel's petite form, crouching low so that it was not necessary to speak with great volume in order to be heard.

"_One of the marines managed to – AGH!"_

"_Sssh!"_

"_He managed to stab me with his halberd…"_

And with that, Jewel dropped the hand that she had been holding over her right side, revealing the ripped fabric of both her coat and shirt, blood staining the entire area quite thoroughly.

Much to her relief, Sydney had not _touched _the wound – she had merely moved the torn fabric here and there in order to get a closer look at it –

"_It's probably best if we just bandage it up – you're losing a lot of blood."_

Jewel sighed in defeat.

"_And it would be best if we avoided fights from now on."_

At Sydney's second sentence, Jewel had nearly sat bolt upright, forcing the privateer to push her back down in order to prevent this from happening –

"_But what about you guys?! How will I be able to help the team?"_

The panic was _clear _in her eyes – she did _not _want to let them down, she did _not _want to disappoint –

"_You already did. If it weren't for you back there, both Sam and me would have died. Now let me do this."_

And without further ado, Sydney had pulled her coat off of her shoulders and undid the buttons of her shirt, sliding this off of her torso as well before practically _shredding _it into identical, long strips – there were more where it came from, she concluded.

It was not a very _reliable _makeshift bandage, given the nature of the material, but it would have to do for the time being – at least until they got back to the ship.

* * *

**Here's a little throwback to what happened the _first _time Sydney's crew tried to enter the tunnels, which did take place before CM ^^**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	75. Chapter 75

**75: Alone**

Having lost his sense of balance, direction, and consciousness for what must have been _hours, _it was _extremely _strange when Decimus had awoken in what was seemingly an endless void of darkness.

He had concluded such because he could sense nothing – he could see nothing, hear nothing –

But he could _definitely _feel the cold air on the slightly – exposed skin on his neck, he could feel the pull of the manacles around his wrists, which had been holding up his entire –

_Manacles?!_

This singular fact had sent an unexpected _jolt _of panic through him – as he did not know _how _he had came to end up in this location and in these circumstances now, nor who placed him in such –

And this made it all the more _uncertain – _how could he _act _if he was _uncertain…?_

Up until now, the marksman's weight had been supported entirely by the manacles, which were attached to the wall with some length of chain, he concluded, as there had been a sort of rattling noise and a considerable decrease in strain on his wrists as he managed to find his footing on the stone floor beneath him.

And so _this _was certain – that he had been taken _prisoner. _

But by _who - ?_

It was only then that the door had almost _ominously _creaked open, the mere _sound _of it sending an unexplained _shiver _through his entire frame –

"_Ah, look at you…"_

A female voice, he concluded, high and shrill, her whispered voice sounding almost _pointed _in its manner as what must have been the fabric of the hem of her skirt quietly swept over the ground, drawing _closer, closer _and _closer - !  
_

Until she was _directly _in front of him, her large grey eyes boring unwaveringly into his own with an intensity that no clockwork could ever match, however constant his own gaze remained –

Had it not been for the lopsided, twisted, _disturbing _smile that had been almost _stretched _across this woman's face, she would have been quite _beautiful – _even from a clockwork's observations, such a thing was difficult to ignore.

She was the _epitome _of human beauty – a curvaceous, hourglass figure, a perfectly heart – shaped face, full lips, defined cheekbones –

And yet, as of now, she was nothing short of _terrifying, _with the way that her black – nailed hand was tracing up his torso with what seemed to be a _malicious _slowness, as if the only purpose of this gentleness was to provide a _contrast _to the horrors that would come, as _oh yes, he could now see behind her, _now that the door had been thrown open and the light let in, for on the wall opposite to the one which he was chained, there sat a rack of the most _wicked _looking instruments of torture that he had _ever _observed.

Most of them were still _decorated _with the dried, darkened blood of their previous victims – of _her _previous victims.

The _dread _of it had been enough to make Decimus' legs nearly give out again, for this was _clearly _nothing _short _of terrifying –

And yet, here she was, trailing her fingertips across his form as one would a lover.

It was all very _confusing – _it was all very _terrifying – _

And the worst part was that in this pool of the dreaded _uncertainty, _he was completely _alone._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	76. Chapter 76

**76: Peace**

_Forgive me._

Even now, now that the buccaneer was _dead _and _gone, _Quintus' last words to her still echoed in the air, echoed in his mind –

He wondered if she had heard, for there was a good chance that she had not – his slight voice could have easily been lost among the sea of mumbled pleads that she had uttered in her last seconds of life.

_Last seconds – _

He had _killed _her, with his own hands, by his own will – and it was absolutely bizarre for Quintus to think about.

_I have ended the life of Samantha Hawkins._

It seemed terribly _unjust, _if he was to state it that way – more unjust than ever before, especially now, now that he was looking down upon her corpse, slumped over on her side as if he had pushed her from her kneeling position that she had taken in her last few moments.

There was a pool of blood gathering underneath her head, just _barely _visible outside of the very edges of her raven – black hair – and this made it almost possible to _ignore _the sight.

Much like the swashbuckler's had been when _she _had died, Samantha's eyes were still open, yes – and they were _staring _up at him, boring into his own, as if she were _still alive – _but unlike Jewel, Samantha's expression was one of peace.

Not of panic, nor of fear – she seemed to be _resigned, _almost.

And this would _haunt _the clockwork musketeer for all eternity.

_Forgive me._

Although it was never verbally confirmed, judging from the expression on her now – lifeless face, it could be assumed that she had.

She had not resisted, not _once, _after he had told her his reasoning, his cause – it was almost as if she had _agreed _with him, that if _she _had been the one to take preventative action _years _ago, when she had first began to notice how _strange _her Captain was acting, this could have been prevented.

It was not _accusatory _in the slightest, in Quintus' mind – it was merely _logic._

_You're right, _she had said, and she had climbed off from on top of him and knelt to the ground, therefore allowing Quintus himself to place his gun to her head and –

_I'm sorry, Jewel, Syd, I'm sorry._

And she had let him carry out his actions without a trace of any further resistance, the only sadness within her being the sadness at the fact that she _had not acted in time._

Even now, the traces of her last quiet tears were still visible upon her freckled face, under those blue eyes that were filled with a thousand apologies.

It truly made Quintus _doubt _his actions – even though his logic had been sound, even though _she herself _had accepted this as a fact – it still felt _wrong, _to some degree.

The musketeer was _grateful _when this short – lived battle within his frame and processor had resulted in a temporary victory of his logic – his logic, which he had _only _functioned off of for _years, _before he served under Sydney's command – and, refusing to look back, Quintus turned on his heel and retreated back into his Commander's fortress.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	77. Chapter 77

**77: War**

The Polarian warrior had slammed into the slight frame of the Armada Commodore with the force of a thousand ships, it seemed, and she was knocked off balance, off of her feet, flying a considerable distance forwards only to land in the knee – deep snow – and she had instantly began to thrash and twist around frantically, only barely managing to turn onto her back and to bring her rifle up in time, allowing her to fire a single lethal charge directly into the head of her attacker.

The corpse of the wolf warrior had then fallen, and Prima was forced to roll herself to the right in order to avoid becoming pinned beneath the much – heavier form of what had once been her opponent.

Without so much as a glance back in the direction of the warrior's unmoving corpse, Prima Militus pulled herself back to her feet, the two nearest clockwork marines to either side of her moving in as to flank her, to shield her as she fired charge after charge with impeccable accuracy, the dying screams of the Polarians lost within the howling winds as they were toppled, a great distance from where they were standing.

She had truly been _just in time, _Prima knew – any longer, and the target of those warriors, Presidos Primus – the first Commodore – would have been _terminated._

However, now was not the time to dwell on the past – chances, on the paths that would never be walked upon and on the _what – ifs _that the humans and the mortal beings seemed so intent upon asking –

For _this was war. _

And war was about _now._

The marine to her right had then lunged forwards abruptly in order to block the large axe – like blade of yet another warrior from burying itself in the Commodore's skull, allowing enough time for Prima to once again take aim and _fire, _resulting in the addition of another corpse upon the ground, another several liters of blood that would stain the once – pristine snow that _all too familiar _deep – burgundy hue.

_This was war. _

It was obvious that Prima could not stay in a single spot for long, given her status – it had made her, along with the other two Commodores, targets of _primary importance._

The two marines had shielded her, protected her all the meanwhile as she ran, the snow making this task more cumbersome than usual, as she was forced to utilize more energy than would usually suffice in order to _stay balanced, _let alone keep speed –

Not to mention that the numerous corpses that now littered the ground acted as obstacles, as deterrents, as blockages that needed to be maneuvered around.

It was a truly unnerving sight – the surrounding snow now having turned more red than white, with mangled, unmoving cadavers sprawled here and there and _everywhere, _their limbs splayed about as if they were attempting to reach out still, _one last time._

However, what truly caused the Commodore what the mortal beings knew as _unease _was not the carnage, nor the massive, half – frozen bodies of the Polarians –

It was the frames of the _clockworks._

The marines, the musketeer soldiers who were now collapsed upon the ground, never to march or to salute or to respond again – all of them having died defending her, defending the _glory of the Armada._

However, their frames would be _collected, _once all was said and done, as they would not be left here to rot as the Polarians would – and she would carry on, as her function and her duty demanded of her.

After all, _this was war – _

And she was _built _for it.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	78. Chapter 78

**78: Freedom**

"_You think she's dead?"_

"_No way – look at her chest, she's breathing, you moron."_

Groggily, Sydney Underhill opened her eyes, only to _immediately _shut them again – the sun was _blinding, _it was _glaring, _it was _never _like this in Marleybone - !

_Wait, WHAT?!_

In that instant, the twelve – year – old girl sat bolt upright, causing the two young children who had been standing over her prone form to skitter away nervously, as if she were some sort of resurrected corpse, kicking up sand as they ran.

_Sand…?_

Blinking quickly in an attempt to adjust to the harsh glare of the sun, Sydney staggered to her feet, brushing sand and numerous splinters of wood off of her nightgown as she took in her surroundings.

And it had taken her no more than a few seconds to determine that this _definitely _wasn't Marleybone – for Marleybone had dreary skies and cobblestone streets and rows and rows of overly – refined buildings, not _sand _and _sunlight _and _ships – _

_Ships._

_Thousands _of them.

And suddenly, she recalled what had happened when she was last conscious.

Up until then, Sydney had thought of herself as quite safe, hiding away within the cargo hold of the trading ship – she was scared and frightened and uneasy about leaving her homeworld without any sort of preparation, yes, and she was apprehensive about what to _do _when they once again reached land, yes, but she had not been _discovered – _and so, in her twelve – year – old mind, all was well.

And then the storm had hit.

It had _tossed _the ship as if the structure of it had weighed _nothing, _and at that point, Sydney did not _bother _to hide her screaming, her shrieking as the vortex of winds blew holes through the sides of the hold, for the entire _crew _was screaming along with her – screaming at each other to _lower the sails, _to _take hold, _screaming for God to _save them – _

And yet, in the end, the ship had still been _demolished – _

It was by pure _chance _that Sydney herself had happened to land upon the pile of driftwood that she was now standing amongst – had it occurred any other way, she would not be _alive._

This realization left the girl standing dumbstruck, her brain having been positively _numbed _by what she had just concluded.

Never would she see her family again – they were likely on the other side of the Spiral by now.

It did _sound _terrible in her head, when it was phrased like this – but really, Sydney thought, _was _this so terrible?

Judging by the numerous ships that were clustered at the massive docks that were not far from where she was standing, and the numerous Jolly Roger flags that were mounted on top of the condensed buildings close to the beaches, she had landed upon _Skull Island – _the very haven of the _pirates._

It was a land that she had only read about in books – how they had taken in hundreds, _thousands _of refugees from various worlds and trained them to fight, to defend, and to _make a difference – _

Sydney now began to see the situation in an entirely _different _light.

All of her life, she had wanted her name on paper, her painting on walls, her name revered – but it took many years to build up such the reputation necessary, something that she had deemed _impossible _to achieve back at the Underhill manor in Marleybone.

However, now, she was not within her manor, and she was no longer upon the lands of the Queen.

She was on _Skull Island._

Opportunity was knocking, Sydney knew, and she wouldn't _dare _to miss it.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	79. Chapter 79

**79: Global**

It was a stark contrast, Prima realized, how the citizens of Valencia had shut their windows and their doors at the first sight of Armada clockworks, not _daring _to make a sound.

For what had seemed to be decades, this _fear _had always hung over the world of Valencia – the citizens, and their fear of their puppets – turned – tyrants.

_It was not always like this._

Prima herself would know, above all others.

The clockwork Armada had been _built _by one of these Valencian citizens, by a _mortal _being, an _imperfect _being, the imperfect being who had rushed to complete her frame in time, therefore neglecting to give her white curls on either sides of her head, or to tune her voice to the pitch of that of the musketeers.

It had been ingenious – there had not been _enough time _to make her _Militus Primus, _and so her maker had made the short, necessary adjustments in order to give her a _female _form, this he could do _in time – _

Hence she was _Prima Militus._

And she had been _worshipped._

_Protector, our savior, _she had been called by the people – the people, who looked to her as the _mother machine._

How _different _things were now.

She was _feared, _just as the rest of the clockworks were – _devils, _they were now called, _clockwork fiends, soulless demons. _

Had she been human, Prima knew, this would have _infuriated _her – for as of now, _her _security forces – the Black and White Cadres – were patrolling, _protecting _the lands of Valencia, just as they always had and just as they always would.

They had not changed – only the _citizens _had.

She was one of the few who was able to know this, who was able to make this conclusion, as a great majority of the clockworks that had been assembled during the same period as she was had been destroyed within the Great Demise in Polaris, and the more recently – assembled clockworks could not _possibly _know of the reverence that they had once been looked upon with.

A world – wide change, that's what it had been – for both the citizens and the clockworks, leaving her and the rest of the elite court as the only bridge between these two eras.

"Commodore."

She had recognized the voice _instantly, _turning sharply on her heel and raising her right hand to her brow in a salute.

"Supreme Commander Kane."

This had practically become routine – how could it _not _have, after over fifty years?

"Report."

"There have been no unusual or threatening events that have occurred among the lands of Valencia today."

And the Lord of the clockworks had nodded in satisfaction – although to hear this from her was not any sort of _surprise. _

Ever since she had become the _sole _remaining Armada Commodore, he had entrusted her with the command of the security of the motherland – and it was _not _a duty that she had _ever _taken lightly, regardless of whether she was revered or hated, and this only reflected how _effective _she truly was at instilling _order._

The Supreme Commander had turned away himself then, exiting the balcony that Prima had been standing on and moving in the direction of the throne room chamber – as the concern no longer occupied his mind.

For after all, she was the _mother machine, _as she had been all of these years – and as long as she remained, Valencia would be _safe._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	80. Chapter 80

**80: Extinct**

Quintus had lost count of the days since he had last heard his Commander's voice, since he had last seen her stride about, with her shoulders back and her head held high, with the _intention _that she always seemed to have, no matter _what _she was doing.

He had given up _counting _them soon after she had fallen – it was too _painful _to carry out, to count the seconds that she had been _absent, _as if she would someday, some_how, _return to her forces, her Armada, return to _him._

And now, he remained where he had sat for the past several days, weeks – next to her bloodied form, her black, bloodstained hair splayed out underneath her, providing a gruesome backdrop to her face – or rather, what was left _of _it.

_Almost nothing._

She had _torn _it all off of herself, after all.

Reaching over carefully, Quintus drove away some of the flies that had begun to settle upon the torn, bloodied muscles of the area that had once been her face – her eyes had remained closed, thankfully.

It was the one time that he had dared to touch her – to close her eyes, in an attempt to prevent them from rotting due to the lack of moisture and from the exposure to the air for such an extended period of time – and also due to the fact that he could not _take _how empty her gaze was.

Quintus had often been _afraid _of his Commander, that he would admit – but even her most violent tirades were preferable to her _absence._

He _refused _to believe it still, to some degree.

_She's not gone._

_Merely asleep – _

_She'll return, after all, she'll return, yes…_

Even now, now that _weeks _had passed, he still refused to acknowledge his Commander's _death, _her _extinction – _how _could _he, when her _orders _still lived?

He would _protect her, _he had sworn, from _whatever would harm her – _

Watch me, she had said, and he would, he would follow her last command _to the death. _

And it was _exactly _what he was doing now, yes, he was _protecting her, _he was as he waved his thin – fingered hand lightly above the torn flesh of her face, as he scattered the flies and the other insects and pests away from her because _how dare they, how DARE they defile his Commander!_

If he was to wait an eternity, then he would do so – for he would merely be _following orders._

But it was much more than _orders, _he knew, this sense of loss, this hole that seemed to have carved its way throughout the internals of his very frame, mercilessly vacuuming up all there was to take.

This state, it was a very subtle version of what the humans called _mourning. _

It would have frightened him, in any other case, if he had not been _within _it at the very moment.

She is _lost, _the shattered – but – logical segment of his processor concluded yet _again, _she is gone; she is _never _to return – and _God, _it was _painful._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	81. Chapter 81

**81: Wounded**

"And what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Samantha, who had only been in the tavern for a few _minutes _so far, had been most obviously caught off – guard by this question – and her face flushed in a combination of embarrassment and indignancy as she turned to face the man that had spoken –

Truly, he was more of a boy than a man – he _couldn't _have been older than her by more than a year, placing his approximate age around sixteen or seventeen, just as she was.

"What're you trying to say?"

Much to her dismay, Samantha's voice came out as more of a high – pitched squeak than anything else – and she could feel her face suddenly flush as it often did when she got worked up like this…

"I mean, _look at you._"

The boy, who had flaming red hair and seemed to be a buccaneer of sorts, judging by his attire (as well as his ego), slid onto the barstool next to her, leaning a single elbow on the bar itself, giving her one of those _arrogant _half – smiles.

"What's _that _supposed to mean…?"

"You're a pretty thing, you are – it's practically _dangerous _for you to be out here, all alone!"

Behind him, his group of four or five friends – all of them being buccaneers as well, laughed.

Samantha wished that she hadn't left her armor on the ship.

It made her _look _more intimidating, when she wore it – but now, dressed only in her white shirt, with her long black hair down and her freckled face and bright blue eyes, she looked positively _innocent._

It _infuriated _her – it was as if removing her armor had removed her _strength, _in her eyes.

"I don't need anyone to _protect me, _if that's what you're saying." She replied as a matter – of – factly, and the boy arrogantly crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back slightly, a smirk plastered across his face.

"_Really, _now…? I'm sure you've heard of me – Jake Bosworth? I'm the _strongest _buccaneer on the island, and judging from the looks of you, you could _use _someone like me."

This was both a proposition and a threat, Samantha knew – she was not the most socially adept, given all the time that she spent away from the island, with Sydney and Jewel – but she wasn't _stupid._

"The _strongest _buccaneer on the island…? _I don't think so…!_"

She returned his arrogant smirk, watching with amusement as his face colored in outrage – how _dare _she question his strength, his masculinity, she could practically hear his mind _screaming._

"Then who _is?"_

"Me."

And with that, Samantha pushed her drink aside, rolling up the sleeve of her loose white shirt and planting her elbow on the table.

"You think you're so tough? _Prove it. _Take me on, _right now!_"

Jake and his gang had burst into laughter.

"All right…well, if you _insist…_" He replied in between chuckles, rolling up his own sleeve (to expose his _much _weaker arm) and placing his own elbow on the bar before clasping her hand, motioning to one of the boys behind him.

"You be the judge."

_I've got you._

"Ready…_Go!"_

And before he could even _blink, _Samantha had _slammed _his arm down onto the bar, causing him to _scream _in pain – however, she didn't even bother to _look _back before strutting out of the bar, a slight smile gracing her features.

She wasn't _worried _about the pain that she had caused him, Samantha concluded – his pride was probably more wounded than his arm.

* * *

**This was one of my hands-down favorite chapters to write.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	82. Chapter 82

**82: Breathe**

It was hard enough for Hunter to _breathe, _let alone _think _at the moment – at _this _moment, as he was on his knees in front of the bound and chained form of the Commodore Prima Militus, as he was _completely breaking down _before her, with no energy left to feel any shame for his own actions and situation.

However, she had _not _reacted as he had expected so far – she had _not _denounced his emotions, his claims, his conflict, and his _loss._

Rather, she had merely _listened._

It gave him a very _odd _feeling – as if he was confiding in his _mother _rather than the most battle – scarred and experienced soldier in the _entire clockwork Armada. _

Her posture, her gaze – it was not _nearly _as intimidating or as unyielding as most clockwork soldiers were – rather, she seemed to understand him _perfectly, _she seemed to understand his every _word, _even though half of them were shaky and slurred together.

This _frightened _him, he would admit.

Clockworks were not _supposed_ to handle emotions as naturally as she had – and yet, she was doing _exactly _so, without struggle, without fail.

_How?!_

Such was not supposed to _occur, _it was not supposed to _be – _they were soulless _machines, _completely void of emotion, as well as the _understanding _of it –

And yet, he had been proven horribly wrong.

His brain seemed to be split into two pieces at the moment – one of them occupying the role of his rhetorical, telling him that _this made no sense, _what he was doing now and how she was reacting so _calmly _to it, as if she _understood, _and it was telling him to _stop it, _to _cease _before he made a mistake that he would _never _be able to reverse – not even knowing what this _mistake _could possibly be.

And yet, this did not do _anything _to stop the other half of his mind – the half that had been _pushed to the limit, _to the breaking point, and just as if a dam of sorts had burst, it was _overflowing _beyond all control.

He was telling her of _everything _that he feared, _everything _that plagued him, _everything _that made him weak – he was telling her of Dangler and how she _wasn't always this way, _of how she was once beautiful and powerful and confident and _healthy, _all before her _obsession _overtook her –

It was a rather large amount for anyone to digest, even a human – who was as emotional as he was.

Yet, she seemed to understand _perfectly._

She did not have _pity _for him, no – and she did not feel _sorry _for him either, he could tell – but she certainly _understood, _she certainly _comprehended _his situation.

It was the first time that he had seen a clockwork look at him with something other than _hatred _or _disgust – _none of which clockwork soldiers could actually _feel, _of course, but given the way that they had been programmed to act, it certainly did draw several parallels.

It truly was a pity, Hunter thought – for how the one individual that he had been _able _to confide in was none other than his worst enemy.

* * *

**I do apologize for how late I have posted this - as I just returned from our largest and last band competition of the season earlier today :(**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	83. Chapter 83

**83: Head Over Heels**

At first, Hunter had laughed right along with her – he had grinned with the same sadistic glee that she had, and he had felt the _same _satisfaction that she had (or so he had thought) at watching the frame of Presidos Decimus getting _ripped _apart, at yanking the screams of agony from his pale throat.

However, things had _changed._

While Hunter himself seemed to _visit_ the marksman on a regular, never – changing basis, the frequency of _Dangler's _descent down into the basements had been _increasing _oh so _steadily, _but _frighteningly _quickly as well.

Hours multiplied and turned into _days._

Yet, he was _reluctant _to intervene – as she placed herself into a trance – like state of sorts when she was down within this chamber, and it was almost _dangerous _to interrupt her – as she had _lashed out _so when he had tried so long ago, it seemed.

This had been her longest stay yet.

She had not emerged for _thirty – six hours._

Hunter had tried to go about his business – as he was a major leader of the Skull Island resistance forces, after all, and there was _planning _that needed to be done, actions that were to be overseen –

And yet he _could not _prevent being absolutely _haunted _by the fact of this, of how _long _she had stayed.

It was only _then, _when it seemed that his anxiety had reached its very _limit, _did she emerge.

"Dangler…? Oh _God…_"

Even though it had been a day and a half since he had last seen her sleep, and even longer since he had last seen her _eat, _she still wore a very _obvious _trace of the same giddy smile across her face – that same _smile, _pulling at one corner of her dark – lipped mouth slightly more so than it did the other.

However, this did not stop the _obvious _signs of sleep deprivation from _showing – _the edges of her grey eyes, once so _beautifully _defined, had almost been lost among the sunken, darkened flesh surrounding her eye sockets – and her eyes themselves were horridly bloodshot, as such was what _happened _when one did not sleep for _this long._

Yes, there was her face – and with an even _greater _horror, Hunter noticed that there were _her hands._

They were completely _drenched _with blood.

Her nails had been painted black the last time he had seen her, the last time he had held her, just before she had descended again – it was not likely that the paint had come _off – _rather, they had simply been totally and completely masked with the blood of the marksman.

The red staining went from the very tips of her fingers to her elbows, some of it dried and some of it fresh, and she left a bloody _trail _as she stagger – walked across the living room, stifling a large yawn by covering her mouth with her hand – and leaving a crimson handprint across the lower half of her face in the process.

Hunter was in awe.

Horrible, _terrible _awe.

"How long was I down…?"

"A…a _day and a half, _Dangler…!"

She paused.

"It certainly didn't _seem _like _that _long of a time…"

Hunter shook his head – he was _clearly _agonized by this, by _seeing _her in this state, by _seeing _her deprive herself of her basic needs to satisfy her own growing _addiction – _

"_Look _at you – you look _terrible, _Dangler…why do you _do this _to yourself?"

Instantly, her lazy expression had hardened, her defined brows had arched, and Hunter resisted the urge to _shrink back, _to _cower _away.

"Isn't it _obvious? _I'm in _love _with him, Hunter…!"

And with that, she turned swiftly on her heel and strode out of the room, having seemingly _regained _her energy all at once.

_I'm in LOVE with him, Hunter – _

They were mere _words, _yes – and they were not the physical horrors that he was seeing upon Dangler's frame now – but somehow, this was the most _painful _part of it _all._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	84. Chapter 84

**84: Country**

Hunter had been sixteen at that time when he had first seen the dull – eyed girl, he recalled – it was during one of the privateer trainings sessions, as he was learning naval tactics secondarily to hoodoo.

They had been in the war room, yes - the large, circular room with the large circular table at the very center of it, with what looked like thousands of tiny boats on top of this table that the Commodore, their trainer, would move with a large Y – shaped stick as he would lecture through important battles, victories, defeats…

Just as the great majority of the class seemed to think, Hunter had always found this part of the class the most _boring – _standing clustered around the table for hours at a time did not _seem _like a difficult task when it was spoken in such a manner, but once one had _attempted _it, they would find that it was much harder to remain attentive than it had initially appeared.

And so his eyes had eventually wandered, that day, from forehead to forehead of the other trainees, all of them bent somewhat over the table in an attempt to see more clearly – and he had made eye contact with her.

It was not _unusual – _after all, human beings did use their _eyes _to communicate, this was no big _surprise – _what did surprise him was that she did not immediately avert her gaze.

Many girls acted in this manner when they did catch him looking at them, whether it was accidentally or purposefully – their faces would color and they would quickly turn away, some of them wondering how long he had been looking at them and some of them _giggling, _perhaps (which did disgust him, truly).

However, _she _had done neither of these things – rather, she had simply matched his stare with her own dead, dull, unwavering one.

It did _scare _him slightly, the solidity that seemed to emanate from her – especially since most teenage girls upon the island did not seem to have anything _close _to this, and now that he thought of it, neither did the boys.

Trainees were impulsive and reckless and filled with _too much unnecessary energy, _yes, with him being one of them – but she did not seem to have _any _of that.

It was _unusual _indeed.

Luckily, the session had ended then, and the students had _raced _out of the room merely _seconds _after they had been dismissed, as if there was some sort of horrific monster after them –

But she did not.

Instead, she calmly walked towards the door, her hands clasped behind her back – and Hunter slowed his pace, so that she was now walking alongside him.

"New here?"

"Yes."

The cold nature of her response had also startled him – judging by her appearance, she couldn't have been more than _fourteen _years old, and yet, her very presence seemed to have more _weight _than his own.

"What's your – "

"Sydney Underhill."

She had then sped up her pace, almost _running _out of the room – however, Hunter did not attempt to follow after her any longer.

Rather, he remained within the room, awestruck and stunned.

Even though he had been taken to the Island by his father when he was younger, Hunter could still remember the few years that he had spent living in Marleybone –

Upon which the _Underhills _were the dominant family, they were the _masters, _the _keystones _of trade –

_Everyone _knew them.

_So what are you doing here…?_

* * *

**Some Syd backstory that only gets to poke its head out every here and there.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	85. Chapter 85

**85: Volcanic**

Sydney had always been _known _for her temperament – but she had _never _truly showed that side of her when she was sailing, when she was with her crew, who were just as hardworking as she could ever be – for they gave her no _reason _to rise to her legendary state of anger.

Samantha in particular had never _believed _the words that had been said to her when she had first revealed to those that had once been in her buccaneer master class that she had been "drafted" into Sydney Underhill's crew – as at first, her comrades had looked at her as if she had three heads.

"Are you _crazy?"_

"It's only because no one _else _asked you, right…?"

Even back then, when she had been merely sixteen, Samantha had not been the most socially adept trainee on the island, but she _certainly _was not oblivious to what they were trying to say.

And it _irritated _her.

"What do you_ mean _by that…?"

Her usually sugary voice had sank to an abnormally low _growl, _and instinctively, her fists had clenched by her sides, and every muscle in her powerful arms had flexed – this, of course, sent a great majority of the perpetrators scurrying several feet backwards.

After all, given that she had hauled in full sized _galleons _with the strength of her body _alone, _it was almost _certain _that her punches would deliver nothing short of _complete _pain.

"We mean that," One of them had miraculously worked up the courage to speak again, "No one on the island really _likes _to work with Underhill – she gets angry at _everything._"

They were still _insulting her captain, _yes, Samantha knew – they were still _insulting _the girl, the _leader _who had given her the freedom to sail, to _fly, _to use her strength for something _more._

However, their statement was not entirely _incorrect – _Sydney _did _get mad at nearly _everything. _

Samantha had heard this herself, as the privateer often stayed awake late into the hours of the night (and more often than not, this carried into the next morning) meticulously planning out their course, their paths, and every so often, she would drop a pen, or the paper that she was writing on would flutter to the ground, and she would _bellow _shortly in frustration, yelling at _everything _and at _nothing _for _no _particular reason other than the fact that something had stepped _outside _of the fragile lines that had surrounded _the plan _that she seemed to have for _everything, _no matter how _small _of a difference it made.

"That's true."

"Then _why – "_

"She doesn't get mad at _me, _stupid." Samantha spat, and instantly, the group of pirates that she had been quarreling with exchanged glances with each other.

Samantha didn't _insult. _

She would throw punches, yes, but she didn't carry _that _type of venom within her – or so they thought.

"I perform _up _to her standards – "

_Up to her standards._

Of course, she was referring to the many tasks she performed that would have ordinarily been impossible for a single fully grown _man _to do – such as raising the anchor without any sort of contraption or assistance, as such a job often took _five _of the ship's strongest men, at the _very least – _

"Maybe if you could even _dream _of doing the same, she wouldn't yell at _you, _either!"

Samantha had turned and marched away sharply, head held high – for yes, Sydney Underhill was infamous for her volcanic rage, as some would put it – but she could see _potential._

And Samantha could never have been more _grateful _for that.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	86. Chapter 86

**86: Houdini**

Five years.

It had been _five years _since she had last shown her face, Vadima had recalled – and it was as if her students seemed to _know _this as well.

"Madame – does _she_ still stay in the sanctum?"

The redhead girl's nasally voice was almost _more _irritating than usual with this particular sentence – although the witchdoctor trainer could not really _blame _her for asking such a question.

After all, this was the master class – therefore, they had most _definitely _trained with her five years ago, when Dangler had still lurked at the very edges of the room during her sessions, occasionally putting on small displays of her own power that were purely for her _own _amusement.

However, the trainees had _seen _her, no doubt – and even just a quick _glance _of the rat – girl in "action" had left them speechless, speechless at the fact that she had performed what they had _supposed _was hoodoo (regardless of the fact that it did not have that same green aura) _without _any sort of staff to direct it, speechless at the fact that she could split the very earth beneath her and summon _hundreds _of branches from hell itself, it seemed – as surely, after Hunter Chamberlain had challenged her several years ago, his classmates had spread the word, had told of the experience.

She was well known throughout the island as the most talented of the witchdoctors, and Hunter Chamberlain was an exceptional leader, not to mention that his wealthy Marleybonian family had been long – term supporters of the Resistance – and so when he had _courted _her, she had become an _equal _figurehead.

He would give rallying speeches, she would be at his side – saying nothing, doing nothing, merely _standing _by his side – but it was _possible _to tell that their audience _knew, _without having to see or hear at that moment.

They _knew _what she could do – it was only a lucky chance that she was fighting for _their _cause, and this confidence that the entire population of the Island seemed to have in the couple propelled them forward, their faces acting as a metaphorical flagship for the entire pirate haven, for each and every trainee and master.

And then she had disappeared.

It was sudden, without any known reason – she had simply _stopped _showing her captivating face in public, and Hunter appeared before them alone again.

Naturally, having been a mother of sorts to Dangler for almost all of her life, Vadima had been _frightened _for her, and eventually, she was driven to use her crystal ball to _look_ at her – it was _draining _and it was _invasive _of Dangler's privacy, yes, but it would only be _this once, _to ensure her safety, for the witchdoctor feared that she had taken ill with some deathly disease, that she had grown to be a recluse, and God _forbid_ that he had _beaten _her to the point of where she could not appear - !

But, as it turned out, _none _of those things had happened to her.

Instead, the silhouettes reflected within Vadima's all – knowing crystal ball showed Dangler to be as lively as she ever was – twirling around in some sort of nonchalant dance, playing her beloved violin – something that she had picked up once she had moved into the manor.

All was normal, all was well, it certainly seemed –

_So why did she disappear?_

* * *

**Here's some more interesting insight into Vadima's predicament now, after her adopted daughter is no longer living with her...**

**I hope you enjoy, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	87. Chapter 87

**87: Unconscious**

All had been still for two hours so far.

And it was quite _miraculous _that this was so, the Commodore Prima concluded – and she concluded this _quietly, unmoving _and _undisturbed, _the thin fingers of her right hand lightly resting upon the head of the marksman Presidos Decimus – who had seemed to fall into a strange state of _peace _after what had seemed like _hours _of being tormented by _hallucinations _of his captor.

_She can see me, _he had said, _she reaches for me, she will find me - !_

For she had appeared _before _him – she had _seen _him, somehow, and as a consequence, he had seen her as well.

The mere _memories _associated with this woman were enough to bring a _perfectly programmed soldier of the Armada _crashing to his knees.

What this would _mean, _specifically, for him, Prima truly had no idea.

It all depended on how much _mercy _the Supreme Commander would have – and she could only _hope _that he would do as before and _listen _to her words and reasoning, for he was _aware _that she had knowledge and understanding far beyond the capacity of any known clockwork – even himself.

Being careful not to make any sudden or sharp movements, Prima neatly folded her long, thin legs underneath her form, as so that if one of her subordinate officers were to seek her out, she would perhaps look a little more _dignified – _that was, as dignified as one could possibly look while sitting curled on the floor, her left arm curled protectively around the marksman's form (although she was cautious not to touch his torso too harshly, for his captor had _stripped _the flesh from him) as a mother would to her child.

Most usually, the optimal state for a clockwork soldier to be in would be a state of _alert, _in which they were calm, yet ready to defend themselves and the rest of their squadron, if it was deemed necessary – a state of near _unconsciousness, _especially given the fragile build of the musketeer's frames, placed them into the _highest _level of vulnerability that was ever _possible._

And yet, Prima hoped that it would remain this way.

When he had been responsive – which had been a little less than two hours ago – Decimus had not just been _alert, _he had been _paranoid, _he had been _hysterical._

It was a _terrible _state of cognitive agony – in which every function was on overdrive, in which _everything _needed solving while _everything _was uncertain, therefore rendering the usual process of calculations _useless – _

Of course, Prima knew from _firsthand experience _that these were the _precise _circumstances that would cause an Armada clockwork to descend into _panic. _

And such was _frightening, _she knew.

_Yes, this – _she thought – _this is the emotion known as pity, I suppose._

It was one of the more _confusing _emotions – as some humans (it _was _a human emotion, after all) thought of it as _weak _and despicable, and others saw it as one of the greatest virtues.

It all depended on the scenario, really – whether her pity and protectiveness for Decimus would be harmful or beneficial.

And for his sake, she could only _hope _that it would be the latter.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review! Happy Thanksgiving to all!**

** \- Severina**


	88. Chapter 88

**88: Adventure**

Sydney had known from the moment that she had met Jewel that the petite girl was an _expert _in medicine, hence why she had brought her aboard the ship in order to get help for Samantha, who had been sick for what seemed like _weeks _now.

They had not left the docks of Mooshu quite yet, as it was a part of the agreement in order for Jewel to willingly give help – but internally, Sydney was hoping that the healer girl would accept her offer and _agree _to join her crew, and she had a sense that Jewel wished to herself – but there were ties to her homeland that held her back, naturally, just as should occur with any normal being.

It just hadn't occurred to Sydney.

"Morning, Syd!"

The abrupt greeting – yell had startled the privateer, and she was thankful that Samantha _did _not see the look of momentary shock on her face as she wheeled around to face Samantha –

_Wait – _

Samantha was _up?!_

As if to answer her question, the now healthy – as – ever buccaneer gave her captain a short wave, her bright – eyed smile ever present.

"You got over it…_already?!_"

"Yeah, isn't that great?"

"Of course, it's just…I've never _heard _of someone kicking the Monquistan Flu _that _fast!"

Samantha's eyebrows furrowed in question.

"You haven't? Do most people take longer?"

"Most people _die, _Sam."

At this, Samantha's mouth dropped open into a small "o" of shock before she quickly regained her senses, instead moving forward and giving the privateer a crushing hug which Sydney could have _sworn _would have cracked her ribs, had it lasted _one second longer._

"It's all thanks to _her, _really – the medicine was awful, but it worked!"

Flinging an arm back, Samantha pointed to the door that led below decks just as Jewel reemerged, holding numerous vials and containers within her hands as she walked carefully, afraid to trip and shatter them. Instantly, both Sydney and Samantha had rushed towards her, grabbing some of the numerous (and horrifically unbalanced) items off of the top of the pile despite her protests, as she soon realized that they were only ever trying to help.

"I can't thank you enough," Sydney said, trying to suppress her shortness of breath – this mad dash across the massive deck of her ship plus Samantha's air – crushing hug from moments ago had _destroyed _her lungs, she was certain. "If it wasn't for you, I'd have lost my only crew member."

"Your _only _crew member…?" Jewel's reply was even and controlled, just as the rest of her was –

"Yeah, I know that's not how it works, but I've only got one – "

"Not anymore!"

"Wait, _what – _"

But before she could speak any further, Jewel had set the rest of the vials down upon the deck before shaking Sydney's free hand, as if she had just signed some sort of business contract (really, it was not that far off) –

"I'm pleased to tell you that I've _accepted _your offer from earlier, Captain – I believe you now have _two _crew members rather than one."

"Pleasure to have you aboard," Sydney replied – it was more _difficult _to maintain the commanding stance in her voice, it had been overrun with excitement – given Jewel's skill with daggers and throwing knives as well as her knowledge of medicine, she would be the _perfect _counterbalance to the brute strength that both Sydney herself and Samantha housed.

The three of them would cover each other's physical and mental weaknesses (such as Samantha's inability to focus on _anything, _it seemed) flawlessly – and now, Sydney realized, there was no _telling _the limit to how strong they would _truly _become.


	89. Chapter 89

**89: Starting Over**

It was not _uncommon _for Samantha to "fantasize," so to speak, of Sydney regaining her heath, her sleep, her smile – for although she could vividly remember those times in which she and Sydney and Jewel had been as close as sisters, they were merely _memories, _and nothing more.

She had prayed every night – _if there is a God, if there is, if there is, give her back, I beg, I beg of you._

The buccaneer truly did _hate _seeing her captain like this – for although Sydney had never been one for sleep, her eyes had never before been _this _swollen, _this _bloodshot – it almost seemed as if the very light of the sun would cause her to vanish into a pile of dust, she looked so _worn out._

_Start it over again, before everything went wrong – _

And strangely enough, Samantha found, one day, her prayers had been answered.

It had been like an ordinary day, in which both she and Jewel would report to the main deck shortly before Sydney would undoubtedly emerge from her cabin, having meticulously planned out each and every action that they would take during the daylight hours to an _extremely _unnecessary extent.

Naturally, her prediction had been correct – within a few minutes, Sydney had pushed open the door and emerged, carrying three or so pieces of parchment within her right hand.

However, there was something _different _about her today.

Samantha could see the whites of her eyes.

Her eyelids were thin rather than swollen and her eyes were wide and clear and alert just as those of a _normal person_ should be.

And she was _smiling._

The blue – eyed woman had been caught completely dumbfounded – she had not seen Sydney in this state ever since her first year of sailing aboard the _Grand Fife, _and it was almost _too _good to be true –

"Sydney, you actually look…_rested._"

Jewel's voice clearly revealed that the other woman was just as bewildered as she was – and Samantha felt the strange urge to reach out and cover Jewel's mouth with her hand, as if her questioning would break the spell that had _obviously _been placed over their Captain to place her in _this healthy _of a state.

But nothing changed.

Rather, Sydney only moved closer towards them, her stone – like eyes piercing directly into Samantha's without restraint – she was _intimidating, _she was _overbearing, _and it was _undiluted – _although this was what had initially terrified Samantha when she had first joined Sydney's crew, it was now a _welcome relief, _it was a true sign that she was _back – _

The privateer then strode up to the helm of the ship without any shake whatsoever in her stride, taking the wheel and guiding the _Grand Fife _into an adjacent windlane, all while Jewel began to scale the mast –

_Everything is functional –_

_All is well._

Samantha's eyes snapped open then.

She was _not _on the deck of the ship, she was _not _looking upon her _smiling, healthy _Captain – she was lying on her back on top of the cot within her own cabin, staring up at the ceiling as the ship rocked beneath her.

_Too good to be true – _

_All just a dream…_

Defeated, Samantha curled inwards on herself and sobbed.

* * *

**Poor Sam :( This was definitely one of the saddest chapters out of the entire challenge, and I almost cried while writing it.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	90. Chapter 90

**90: Twins**

It was remarkable, Sydney found, the _differences _that she had found between her two beloved clockwork soldiers – aside from the obvious, that one was _willing _and one was _not._

The Captain Optimus Caerulus did in fact look, at least from a distance, rather _identical _to Quintus, who had once been a soldier under his very command – but now that Sydney had beaten him to the ground, now that she had tied his hands behind his back so that he could not grab hold of her wrists and push her away, now that she had tied his legs together so that he could not stand, she was able to observe the both of them at a rather _close _proximity.

Yes, _indeed – _she had spent _so _many long nights that _should _have been used for planning and predicting to simply _gaze _upon the beautiful sight that had been rendered absolutely _helpless _in the darkest corner of her cabin – and much like a mother would when it came to twin siblings, after a while, her mind had set aside the physical similarities between this one and Quintus and allowed her to focus on the _differences _instead.

For one, there was the golden mask that surrounded the sockets that _would _have held his eyes, had he been _human_ –

And as a once inferior soldier in comparison, Quintus was _not _in possession of this, naturally – regardless of the fact that under _her _command, he was anything _but _inferior.

And then there were his red – painted lips, the gold outlines and details on his uniform indicating his rank, his status, his standing –

Yes, _all _of the Armada officers were like this – they wore uniforms that _indicated _their rank, the _slightest _physical difference translating to an _enormous _cognitive one.

The simple _presence _of color on Caerulus' lips (which were now covered, as the privateer had tied a piece of sailcloth over his mouth as to prevent him from possibly alerting the rest of the crew), she now knew, told that he could calculate chances a _thousand _times faster than Quintus could ever _hope _to –

As such was only _natural – _soldiers merely had to make decisions for themselves and occasionally for the soldier immediately next to them, while officers made decisions for not only _themselves, _but for their _legion._

_Such a powerful mind, _Sydney marveled, _so wondrous, so complex…_

And given that Caerulus had now been taken _away _from his troops, from his legion, his processor, built to make decisions for a thousand individuals, was now _completely _focused on his _own _decisions, his _own _situation.

_A thousand times the focus, a thousand times the fear – _

Naturally, Sydney _drank _it all in – and much like alcohol, it was quite _intoxicating _to her.

_Power – drunk, _yes, that was what they called it – it was a term that they most usually reserved for _tyrants, _for corrupt leaders and unjust dictators, as she had learned from so _many _of her history books.

She was much alike them, in a way.

However, much _unlike _these specific infamous individuals that she had read of, Sydney was not _inadequate – _and _there _laid her difference, the small, minute difference that prevented her from becoming _identical._

She had _potential – _and it would _not _be wasted.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	91. Chapter 91

**91: Open Heart**

It was only when his Commander had drifted off into a somewhat – drunken daze that Quintus had _dared _to go down the staircase.

He had moved slowly, quietly, carefully – but in a way, this was _worse, _as he now had time to observe and memorize the _exact detail _of the steps – every ridge, every groove and edge –

And every drop of blood.

Oh _yes, _it traveled up in a straight line directly from the bottom to the top of the staircase, as this was where it had dripped from his Commander's hands as she had dashed back up to her sanctuary, wailing like a banshee and attempting to fling her own sister's blood from her fingers, her mind splitting under the weight of _what she had truly done._

It was still splitting now, he knew – this type of gravity did not relent.

He could only be thankful that she was able to rest her mind now, as it likely would not come _nearly _as easy to her in the future – as weights did seem to _grow heavier _the longer that they were carried, despite the fact that they never truly changed in mass.

Quintus was now at the base of the massive staircase, having made it down successfully without alerting either the guards that remained directly outside of her doorway or his Commander – who was seated numbly at her mirror – table, her dead – eyed gaze piercing directly through the mirror and her mouth slightly agape.

He pitied her, almost –

And yet some part of him pitied _this one _more.

This one – this purple – clad woman that now lay dead just a few feet from where he was now standing – close enough to see the small cloud of persistent flies (it was a miracle that they had managed to survive within the tunnels) buzzing above her torn and exposed innards.

_Small intestine, large intestine, liver, stomach – _

Quintus could see them all, and he checked them off of a mental list of sorts, as these were all of the systems that humans and other biological, mortal beings needed to survive, to function, to work.

Obviously, Jewel Zabra could not exactly _use _hers anymore – not when they had been torn into a million pieces and shreds by none other than her own Captain.

_Her heart…?_

Ah, yes, _that _was what Quintus had found rather _odd _about this entire display of carnage –

Her heart did not seem to be _visible _amongst this pile of torn flesh and innards.

And, he remembered, that was because Sydney herself had _destroyed _it.

Yes, she had stood from Jewel's form and _ripped _her heart from her chest, squeezing it with her own sharp – nailed fingers until it drenched her sleeves with blood, the tissues of the organ eventually giving out under the pressure and joining the mass of unrecognizable matter that seemed to be in and around what remained of the swashbuckler's corpse.

Figuratively and literally, Sydney had torn her heart out – and Quintus did quite pity her indeed.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	92. Chapter 92

**92: Welcome**

Although Samantha Hawkins certainly did not want to admit it, she was nervous.

_Extremely _nervous.

This would be the first formal training session that she had ever attended in her _life, _not to mention that she was starting unusually late – at the age of fourteen – especially given that most trainees on the Island began their instruction at around ten, even though it would only be classroom learning (they would be trained in combat when they were slightly older) for the first couple of years.

_Surely, _Samantha thought, _they'll notice me – they'll see that I'm scared and that I don't know what to do, and they'll laugh at me._

It would be her worst nightmare confirmed – to be noticed as one out of a massive crowd, to have hundreds of eyes look upon her and her mistakes and blunders.

As if it would provide her with some sort of protection, Samantha clutched the single textbook that the class had required to her chest.

_The Art of hand – to – hand combat._

It was a thin book, _especially _to the ones that the privateers always carried around – which were full of history and tactics and whatnot, all material that she could never even dream of being able to understand, let alone master.

The streets of the court of Skull Island were empty – as there were sessions taking place right now – and this could only mean that she was _late._

_They can't blame me, right?! _

Samantha twisted her head around, left and right – she had gotten lost a grand total of _three _times, having never ventured onto any other part of the island save for the docks and the small strip of shops that directly neighbored it – she could only hope that the instructor would not punish her too harshly for it, whoever he was.

_There!_

The edge of the buccaneer flag, hanging off of the doorway of a single building, finally caught her eye.

Relief flooding through the veins of the blue – eyed, muscular girl, Samantha all but sprinted over to the entrance, raising a fist to knock upon the door –

_Wait._

_Now they'll definitely notice me, walking in all alone…_

She wondered if any of them would recognize her – as trainees most usually would begin their own sailing at the age of thirteen. There was no _doubt _that she had helped to pull in _many _of their ships at least once.

Even now, she could practically _hear _them –

_Isn't that the girl from the docks?!_

_What's she doing here –  
_

_She's starting classes now, of all times…?_

_Late on the very first day, too - !_

Enough.

Samantha had all but mentally _screamed _the word in order to shut her own overactive mind up – it was _important _to be attentive, yes, but not _this _attentive, not _too _attentive.

It was _not _time for that now – rather, it was necessary to be cool, calm, and collected, even if only for these few seconds that all eyes would be trained on her.

Steeling herself, Samantha pushed open the door – revealing what must have been at least _fifty _students of her age (give or take a year) sitting cross-legged in a circle around Mordekai, the hammerhead shark instructor –

_I've seen her before!_

"I'm sorry I'm late – this is my first class, and – "

_She's ridiculously strong – _

"I got lost on the way here."

_You mean we'll have to fight against her?! She pulls in entire ships!_

Much to Samantha's surprise, the instructor did not reprimand her nor say _anything _in _any _sort of negative light – rather, he gestured towards the area where the students were sitting in a _welcoming _manner.

"Don't worry about it – take a seat, and let's begin."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	93. Chapter 93

**93: Daring**

It had been just like any other mission, to begin with – Prima had been summoned to the Supreme Commander's throne room, and she had made her way there without haste.

Naturally, the two guards that had always been present by the doorway had announced her arrival (as her own status was almost as vital as the Commander's himself), and without further ado, she had entered the chamber, saluting dutifully before sinking to one knee before the Lord of the clockworks, as was custom.

"Commodore Prima Militus – I have placed you in charge of leading the annihilation of the pirate haven."

_Skull Island._

If Prima had possessed a heart, it would have _surely _skipped a beat right then and there.

The island was most heavily populated, she knew, and their numbers only grew each and every day, regardless of the fact that half of their numbers were merely trainees.

_Anything is dangerous in a large enough quantity._

She had learned such through _experience, _after all – which was something that she most _definitely _did not lack in.

"Accompanying you shall be your soldiers of the White Cadre."

_Naturally, _Prima thought – as they were one of the two superbly skilled security groups under her command.

However -

"Supreme Commander, if I – "

"You may."

"What of the Black Cadre, Commander?"

Yes, although the soldiers of the White Cadre were most certainly adept in combat, given that they had the ability to execute more complex formations than any other musketeer squadron in the entire spiral, it did not change the fact that they were _musketeers._

Like _her._

Fragile framed and thin and _breakable, _it seemed, enough so that if a buccaneer were to somehow engage one of them in close combat, they would have a _severe _disadvantage.

Thus, why she so desperately required their counterparts, the marine soldiers of the Black Cadre, for missions such as these.

"The soldiers of the Black Cadre shall remain here."

_What?!_

Prima herself could not quite comprehend this, as none of her own logical paths could _possibly _lead to such a conclusion –

Sending the soldiers of the White Cadre _alone _was an _enormous _risk, an _enormous _mistake – it left them open and vulnerable, with no sort of _solid _physical protection whatsoever –

"They are vital to the security of the fortress, if there is to be an attack mounted on Cadiz while the mission is underway."

"Commander, with all due respect - !"

"You will be accompanied by the Captain Servus Albus, after all, and he is _able _to call for reinforcements."

"Surely, there must be – "

"That is an _order,_ Commodore."

And as if it was physically binding, Prima was forced to silence herself – perhaps for the better, else her rather _protective _nature – something more characteristic of living beings rather than clockworks – reveal itself for _too long._

"Understood, Commander – for the glory of the Armada."

Rising from the floor, Prima gave a single salute once more before respectfully backing out of the chamber – only turning her back once the double doors had securely closed.

She did not look back _once _as she headed immediately for her own office – there was no _changing _it now, she knew, the Supreme Commander's decision to send her with a _half _of her forces, without their counterparts. It was a daring move indeed, Prima knew – and thus, it would require every _second _of preparation possible.

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**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	94. Chapter 94

**94: Trapped**

At the very first glance, Decimus had been, initially, relieved to see the fortress of Cadiz – as such was only _natural, _given that it was the very heart of the clockwork Armada, the singular organization, the singular _being _that Decimus belonged to in every aspect.

However, this fleeting feeling of comfort would quickly dissipate within moments.

The Armada Commodore's flagship had jolted slightly when the anchor had dropped, and seconds later, he had felt her hand leave his shoulder, which was where it had been perched for what seemed like _hours._

And instantly, he felt a plunging sensation of dread that _must _have been parallel to what a child feels when they are first taken from their mother, he concluded – how he was _able _to conclude _anything_ in the midst of the terror that had completely overwhelmed him throughout this entire voyage, he had no idea.

Prima had not looked back at him as she had disembarked from the ship, once again assuming her role of _steadfast – unbreakable – Commodore – Prima_, her motherly touches _obviously _having been something _only _for him, and _only _for the time being.

She had spoken very briefly with the marine Captain on the docks – presumably Servus Carbo, one of her immediate subordinates – before motioning back to the soldiers that were on either side of Decimus, flanking him – and he had started slightly upon seeing them, as they must have come up to his sides when his attention was elsewhere.

What this _meant, _he had discovered much too late – as he had only _thought _about bolting away before the two marines had each latched onto his arm with an iron grip, practically _dragging _him down the gangplank when it was proven that he was _incapable _of initiating movement.

They followed the Commodore – into the fortress, up the staircases, through the hallways.

Decimus noticed how the numerous soldiers that were moving through the hallways would stop in their tracks and salute the Commodore, following protocol and out of respect – but they would quickly avert their gazes when he passed.

It was as one would do to a _prisoner._

He did not _understand – _he was one of _them, _it was as clear as day – there was no reason to fear him, he reasoned, if anything, they should be fearful of his _captor, _of the woman behind the branding on his throat, for she wielded powers that none could ever _dream _of, and there was no _telling _her limit –

Prima stopped, and the marines halted abruptly at that _exact _time, nearly causing Decimus to lose his balance.

They had arrived before the massive double doors that would lead to the throne room of the Supreme Commander Kane himself.

Without hesitation, Prima's name and title had been announced and she had been shown in – but the same aura of honor seemed to stay only with her, and instead, he felt all the honor of a _prisoner – _which was not much, really, if it was anything at all, especially given that he was on the territory of his own alliance.

He had initially believed that they would _help him, _just as Prima had – that they would aid in repairing his mind so that he could function normally, that they would seek out this madwoman and _eliminate _her –

Yes, he had thought that the arms of his comrades were those that he could fall back into for support, until he had regained the strength (by whatever method possible) to once again bear his own weight.

However, it was now clear that their intentions were to do anything _but – _and he was quite _trapped._

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**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	95. Chapter 95

**95: Crocodile**

"Jewel, can I ask you a question?"

The swashbuckler yawned, throwing her dagger into the air and letting it spin several times before catching it again.

"Yeah, sure. Shoot."

"Would you want to be burned to death or be frozen to death?"

"What kind of question is _that?!_"

Jewel had almost _recoiled – _she had _not _expected anyone, let alone _Samantha, _of all people, to ask such a grim – natured question.

However, it appeared that this had not been Samantha's intent either, and was likely a result of incorrect wording, judging by how her eyes widened and she quickly jumped up, flapping her hands about as if this would somehow erase her words from the air.

"No, no, no, I didn't mean it in _that _way…"

The petite, green – eyed woman raised a single eyebrow.

"I was _trying _to ask if you hate being really hot more…versus really _cold._" Samantha's face had turned red as she stumbled to find the right words – although it did seem like a simple task to any other, it was difficult enough for Samantha's _mind _to remain focused on a single topic for more than a few seconds, let alone stay on it enough to form _sentences _regarding it.

Such was why she loved _battle _and _combat _so much – it was the only time in which she could _truly _remain focused – well, aside from when she was engaged in anger driven arguments with her comrade or with her Captain.

And such were not times that she wished to repeat in the slightest.

Luckily, Jewel's _awkward _(the buccaneer could not find any other word to describe it at the moment) reaction had dissipated – and she seemed to seriously think about the question for a few seconds before answering.

"I don't know…I'd have to say that I hate being cold more than I hate being hot, because then you don't have frostbite problems and whatnot."

Samantha hadn't thought of that – _losing limbs._

"So if we stuck you in Krokotopia instead of Polaris, you'd be fine?"

Jewel rolled her eyes playfully.

"Well, if it was up to me,I wouldn't want to get stuck in _either _of those worlds – both of them are pretty extreme, given that there's an entire half of Polaris that is basically inhabitable, and the Kroks and Manders can only stand to live in Krokotopia because they're cold – blooded."

"What's that mean?"

Again, the buccaneer did feel rather _stupid _asking yet another question that she felt that she _should _know the answer to – but such had never been taught to her during her childhood years.

"It means that they can't make their own heat like we can – and Krokotopia would just heat us up _more_."

"So we'd be boiled alive?"

"_No!"_ Jewel sighed in mock exasperation, throwing the pillow that was on the nearby cot directly into Samantha's face, who caught it with a sheepish grin – the buccaneer was still a child in some ways, especially given the manner in which she seemed to _layer _questions, one after the other.

However, it wasn't _unpleasant, _this tendency – it was what made Samantha _Samantha, _and Jewel was grateful for it.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	96. Chapter 96

**96: Music**

Hunter had awoken that morning to the gentle, yet firm sound of the grand piano that was located in the main room – the sound had managed to fill the entire house, seeping through walls and floors and ceilings, just as the instrument had been designed to do.

Lazily, the brown – haired witchdoctor reached out to his right side – only to find that the rest of the bed was empty.

_What - ? Where…._

_Of course._

His mind had not quite _registered _it fast enough – Dangler was not _here. _Rather, she was _downstairs – _how _else _would it have been possible for the piano to be played when he himself had no skill in it?

Dragging himself up out of the massive and elaborately upholstered bed (as such was what befitted one of noble Marleybonian descent), Hunter flung open the curtains on the window, reaching up a single arm to shield his eyes from the strangely – blinding light.

The enhanced lighting also allowed him to _exactly _notice the complete state of _disarray _that the room was in – then again, he had been quite _busy _throughout the week with the newest defense plans, and such _housekeeping _had been the last thing on his mind, as was to be expected.

When Hunter had finally descended down the staircase and onto the main floor dressed in a simple white shirt and trousers (it was _far _too much effort to actually give himself a formal appearance, especially since he would not be receiving anyone else this day), it was no _surprise _to find that the pianist was indeed Dangler.

Again, whom _else _could it have been, he thought, making his way over behind the massive instrument and placing his hands on her shoulders –

"I've never heard you play piano before."

The music stopped, and Dangler turned around, rising to her full height and stepping out from behind the bench –

"I haven't played in years, really – " She smiled as she said this, and it was a _dangerous _smile, the ends of her perfectly – fully – shaped lips curving up just ever – so – slightly – "I'm surprised I still remember."

She had truly never failed to take his breath away – she had when they were sixteen, and she certainly had never ceased to do so at twenty (of course, her twenty – first birthday was in less than a week, but it would certainly not change anything). The sheer, fitted crimson nightgown only _accentuated _the curves of her figure, such was quite literally _impossible _to ignore.

"Perhaps you could teach me, yes…?" Hunter chuckled, reaching out and cupping her face with his right hand, the tips of his fingers disappearing into the massive _sea _of black hair that she had _finally_ let loose from her braid – and she replied with a smirk, one of a beautifully _deadly _nature –

But such was _her _nature – and it really was not all that uncommon.

"Perhaps…but you're always so _busy _nowadays, and I don't want – "

"It's not as if you have any less to do than I." Smiling slightly, Hunter pulled the grey – eyed woman close, pressing his lips to her forehead –

His statement was _true – _while he spent his time at meetings to plan defenses for the island and spy missions on the Armada, she trained further in her own _unlimited _abilities – either with Vadima or merely by self – exploration, and yet, she had always somehow found the time to indulge in the pastimes that she truly enjoyed.

Indeed, this was likely due to the fact that she was rather _self – centered – _but it was not exactly _bad _in the sense that it kept her whole and sane – something that he _admired, _in a world of seemingly never – ending stress.

Yes, Hunter thought, perhaps if he _did _try to mimic her ways in this particular aspect, he would find the time to finally practice his cello, to learn the piano, and he would be able to play _beautiful _music that was worthy of the ears of a Goddess such as Dangler.

_Perhaps._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	97. Chapter 97

**97: Unreal**

She had literally slipped through his fingers, Hunter had realized.

Even now, his hands were still blackened from ash, the same ash that lay in a small pile at his feet atop the bundle of black fabric of the dress that had once been _on _her body.

Her body that existed no more, no more, for it was _there _in this pile, it was _all that was left – _

Hunter's mind was _numb, _and he could not even register the pain that had shot up his legs and spine as he fell to his knees atop the stone platform, his mouth slightly agape in shock as tears welled in his eyes, yet refused to fall.

It was _infuriating, _it was ironic, how he had the _audacity _to _notice _such details when his beloved had been reduced to literally nothing more than a pile of ashes, strands of her long, black, tangled hair strewn about like the feathers of a molting bird, like a _phoenix, _except unlike this specific creature, she would not rise again.

_It's sad, it's sad, how sad, how sad._

Hunter felt hollow, as if a vacuum of sorts had sucked his insides out – and it escaped him as to _how _he was shedding tears, how such a _hollow shell as he _was shedding tears as if he was a _whole _being, an _emotional _being, when this was most definitely not the case.

She was gone, she was gone, his _everything – _

And he was gone as well.

He wondered if Sydney, or perhaps if Sydney's _soldiers _could hear the pitiful sobbing noises he was making – for by now, he was not even _bothering _to try and choke them down – after all, what was the _point?_

It was Sydney's fault – such was his initial instinct to think, for after all, the ex – privateer was the individual who had stabbed the wounds into his beloved's lungs that would place her past the point of no return, with survival inevitable – not with that much blood pouring out, filling her lungs and slowly – yet – quickly snatching her breath away.

But then again –

_I know where he is – _

_Sydney Underhill._

It was _he _who had spoken those words, it was _he _who had falsely condemned Sydney without her knowledge, all out of fear that Dangler would not be able to handle the truth, all to prevent _this _from happening –

And yet, it still had.

Dangler had died at the hands of his falsely – condemned – yes, he _refused _to admit that it was _she _who had killed herself, for if not _her – _

Then at _his _hands.

He wondered if she thought so as well, if she had _ever _realized who was truly to blame for her loss of beauty, her loss of sanity, and ultimately, her loss of _life._

It was _not _Sydney Underhill, nor was it Presidos Decimus – rather, it was _him – _Hunter Chamberlain.

And this guilt, harsher than any death sentence that could ever be laid upon him, would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his years – until he was to either descend completely into madness as _she _had, or follow her into death.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	98. Chapter 98

**98: Olympian**

"Sam, are you _sure_ you don't need help?"

Of course, the buccaneer had completely rejected Sydney's offer – it was almost as if her pride was _insulted _by it, even though Sydney was right in being concerned.

After all, Samantha _had _been bedridden with the Monquistan Flu, one of the most notoriously taxing diseases in the Spiral, for a little over a week – she had just recovered fully the previous night, thanks to the help of Jewel's (who was to be the newest member of their crew) medicines.

And yet, here she was, insisting that she had enough strength to raise the massive anchor of the Grand Fife _all by herself. _

Of course, she usually performed such a task with ease – but given that she had been so deathly _sick – _

Much to Jewel and Sydney's shock, that didn't seem to stop Samantha whatsoever.

With all the liveliness of a playful child, Samantha bounded over to the circular structure that the rope of the anchor was attached to, the numerous spokes protruding from it indicating that this would have originally been a task for six or seven fully – grown men – and even _further _to the astonishment of the two other young women, the buccaneer gripped onto one of them and began to push, turning the crank fluidly within seconds.

"You've got to be _kidding _me."

Jewel's mouth had gone slightly agape, as she had obviously never _seen _Samantha in action before.

Of course, they had most likely spoken with each other, and Samantha may or may not have told Jewel of her specialty in strength – but to _say _that one could perform such a feat would most certainly be considered a blatant exaggeration.

That was, unless it was in reference to Samantha Hawkins.

"She's pulling that _by herself?!" _

"Yeah, I would think that she'd told – "

"She _did, _but I didn't think it was _true - !"_

_As expected, _Sydney thought, for such a feat was not _usually _possible by most human beings.

"Before she joined me, she used to pull in entire _ships _at the dock using her own strength."

Sydney's explanation only further astonished the petite girl – then again, it was _as expected._

If one did not look at Samantha's face and merely focused upon the outline and shape of her body, it was easy to think of the bright – spirited buccaneer as nothing short of _downright terrifying_.

Even though her loosely – fitted shirt, the outlines of her bulking, defined muscles were clearly visible – and it was even more obvious in her legs. She was also large in _height, _making her appear towering to most other girls and women, and a great majority of men as well.

"Finished!"

Her smile ever present, Samantha all but skipped back towards the helm, where the other two women were standing, the top of the anchor now visible from the deck.

Although Jewel did not _speak, _it was easy to tell _what _she was thinking –

_You've got to be kidding me._

Yet, Sydney knew full well that this was _nothing _out of the ordinary – and now, it was certain that the buccaneer had made a full recovery.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	99. Chapter 99

**99: Forgiveness**

Even in a stun charge – induced sleep, Jewel still dreamt, yes, she dreamt horrid, _accursed _dreams, and it was made even more torturous by the fact that she _knew _she was dreaming, and yet, her body refused to let her awaken, at least for the time being.

She did not know if these qualified as _dreams _or as nightmarish _hallucinations_, for they were made of nothing but overlapping, distorted versions of her latest memory of the privateer, of Sydney.

Sydney dropping to her knees in the _pool _of blood upon her cabin floor, Sydney gathering up the limp and bloodied frame of the terminated clockwork officer –

_Optimus Caerulus – _

\- within her arms.

Sydney shaking him, _jostling _him, _slamming _his frame against the ground with enough force to rattle the floor, Sydney _sobbing _with grief that Jewel had only ever heard a few painful times before.

As one who had been trained in medicine from a very early age, Jewel had been called to witness (and occasionally aid in) childbirth and delivery – and on exactly _three _occasions, they had been _miscarriages. _

And the would – have – been mother would _wail, _she would _screech _and tear her hair, she would clutch her stillborn child to her chest, just as Sydney had, and it was the _exact _same painful, horrible, agonizing, grief – stricken sound.

It was the _one time _that she had actually seen Sydney Underhill cry, Jewel realized amidst the building sound of Sydney's overlapping screams, played again and again within her mind as if they were on a loop as flashing images of her _crazed _and _wild _grey eyes seemed to appear in the pitch – black darkness of her dream – state before her.

And yet, this _one time _had been the most _devastated _state that she had _ever _seen any sort of living being in.

_I had big plans for you, _the dream – Sydney was screaming, _and you were lost to me – _

_Forgive me, forgive me, I have failed you – _

_There were going to be THOUSANDS, I would have led LEGIONS!_

Grief for the soldier or grief for herself – Jewel could not quite tell _which _of the two had caused such a horrid sound to yank itself from her throat as if her very vocal chords themselves had been shredded.

And furthermore, Jewel also found herself unsure of whether she was to pity the clockwork officer or to pity _Sydney._

He had died at her hands, yes – but she did not _wish _for it to be so, and such was _contrary _to what she had been taught to believe throughout her entire life, that the Armada was _evil, _that they sought to tear away all that they considered _imperfect _from _existence _within the Spiral.

_Is it not true?!_

It was indeed, yes it was, yes it _was – _it was what she had been told, what she had been taught, what she had seen and witnessed throughout all of her years, even if they _were _merely twenty three short ones.

_Forgive me, forgive me, _the dream – Sydney screamed – and as of now, Jewel did not know whether she _could._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

** \- Severina**


	100. Chapter 100

**100: Ending**

Sydney Underhill was not usually one to show her _emotions – _at least, not the more _vulnerable _ones.

Anger was somewhat acceptable to display, for her – as anger was _dangerous, _it kept others at a distance and gave her the space she so _desperately _needed, after being suffocated under her own metaphorical mask for _far _too long.

However, sadness was another case altogether.

Sadness was _vulnerability, _and it drew _pity _from others, not _fear – _and they would _approach _her, yes they would, with meaningless, overly sweetened words of supposed comfort that would only ever make the privateer sick to her stomach.

And yet, here she was, with herself and her _sadness _and Quintus and the _no longer moving frame _of Optimus Caerulus locked within her cabin while her once – loyal crewmates were sealed up within the brig of the very ship that they had called _home _for so long, just as she had from the very first day that she had obtained it.

Sadness did not necessarily mean _tears, _she found, regardless of how there were dozens coursing down her pale, sunken cheeks at the current moment – rather, sadness meant the tripled weight of one's own heart within their chest, it meant that horrible throbbing within one's veins with every dragged pulse, and how it turned one's limbs to lead as well.

Yes, she did indeed feel _sad, _much to her own shame and dismay –

_Sadness for what, _she had asked herself in rage, _searching _for an answer with all of her might.

For the necessary actions, she had answered instinctively – for how there was simply no other _way _around but to lead her crew blindly to terminate the Supreme Commander Kane, the ultimate embodiment of perfection – for it was he who led the _perfect _soldiers with their _perfect _precision to complete their _perfect _plans.

And to think that she had _destroyed _him – even though it had been _Samantha, _the legendary strongwoman of Skull Island, who had struck the final incapacitating blow.

It almost made it seem as if she had killed him, _terminated _him out of jealousy, the lowliest and most shameless and despicable of all human emotions – when in reality, she wished for nothing more to achieve even a _fraction _of his perfection.

Yes, Sydney would have liked to believe that this was the _only _cause of her damned instability, but she _knew _that it was not –

There was also the sadness for her crew, as much as she _hated _to admit it.

She had said it out loud, directly to Quintus –

_It's so sad – _

_They had to choose the wrong side._

The way she had worded it, the privateer recalled, had made it seem as if she had been left without a _choice _but to lock them up, to seemingly turn on those that she had called "sisters" for years –

And this left her to wonder – it left her to wonder if she had _truly _been trapped, with no way out but to cut the ties to those that she had held dear – or if she was merely attempting to _justify _her anger – driven, _sadness – _driven actions with whatever pitiful excuse that she could conjure up.

It was a question without an answer, for her – a paradox – and it would haunt the sunken eyed ex – privateer for the rest of her years, her _days._

_Forevermore._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review!**

**This is the last chapter of the 100 word challenge - it's definitely been a fun experience for me, and I hope that you got at least some of that enjoyment through reading it :)**

**As promised, the sequel to Common Motives, titled "Desperate Measures," will follow shortly, and the first chapter shall be posted next Sunday.**

** \- Severina**


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